


A Flap of a Wing

by KimHoppy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimHoppy/pseuds/KimHoppy
Summary: Darth Sideous made one mistake: The Clones of the GAR are competentAn AU where the clones learn about the chips sooner, and one medic won't let it go
Comments: 51
Kudos: 191
Collections: Best in Fandom, favourite fics from a galaxy far far away





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Clones always deserve a change to save themselves. 
> 
> This was supposed to be more prose and thoughtful reflection, but then it turned plotty and long. Ooops
> 
> As a warning, I'm not super familiar with Star Wars and Clones Wars, so please forgive any glaring mistakes

Everything can change in a moment. 

The hologram in his hands says, “The time has come, Commander Cody. Execute Order 66.” 

But there are moments before this moment, enough moments to fill years, because that is the purpose of moments. They stack and build time. Every moment is delicately balanced on the moments of yesterday, that is the purpose of moments. They stack and build time. Every moment is delicately balanced on the moments of yesterday, a pyramid of moments, and each has the potential to tip another one way or another. 

Sometimes it is a small sway, an errant moment easily noticed, and it can be corrected to a seemingly predetermined course, a destiny, a grand plan. 

But there are other moments when the results are not so obvious. 

All it takes is a moment, near the base, a moment that supports all moments after it, and it can all go sideways. 

Is this a moment where everything can change? 

There is a collection of tubes, each filled with a growing being. 

There is a mild temperature fluctuation, within normal parameters, but there is a slight change in enzymatic activity that wouldn’t have occurred otherwise. 

There is no telling what this temperature change does to future temperaments. 

There is another moment. 

A group of young clones travel to lessons, where they are split up into an assigned station. Here they will be surrounded by the same individuals for several years. 

There is no reason to think this ultimately determines friendships, not that the scientists of Kamino are concerned with such a concept. 

This is a common moment, all said and done. 

Vod protects vod, when they can. They work to keep each other safe – keep each other _alive_ – under Kamino’s many judging eyes. 

But _this_ moment, a young clone sees another falter and offers a small distraction, keeping attention away until the other recovers. 

It was a small mistake, not something that would have made that particular clone be taken quietly away and never seen again. No, it is not a mistake that would lead to decommissioning. But it would have been a mistake noted, something the scientists would have watched and made further decisions. 

It is only one moment. It probably does not save a life 

At this moment there is a test being taken. 

Time is running out. 

A small child, more worried about finishing under time than answers, selects Option 10 instead of Option 11. 

Neither of these answers are right. Neither of these answers are wrong. it is one of _those_ kinds of tests. 

But it is also one of _those_ tests. (All tests given on Kamino are those kinds of tests. All of them know they are _excuses_.) There _are_ right answers and there are wrong answers. 

Only an algorithm, written many moments ago, knows which is which. The coder didn’t, and they didn’t care, either. It was merely a job. 

The same score is produced either way. It is the same score, based on rounding, the difference a mere, 0.00000001%. 

Answering Option 10 instead of Option 11 should change nothing. Maybe it doesn’t. 

There is blaster fire at this moment, accuracy training. 

A shot from another hits a microsecond before his, moving the target the barest micron. It still is a difference of a micron and it is reflected in a score that outwardly is no different, due to rounding. 

Does this matter for the future? How often does the difference of a micron mean someone lives or dies? 

Dust hangs in the air. Someone sneezes, despite all efforts to not do so by all present. Sneezing implies sickness, which can mean terrible things here. 

Not one of the young children say one of the million habitual response that is common elsewhere in the galaxy, because it is not deemed important for them to know. No one says anything, no one except a trainer, who says it absently, just an ingrained habit. Maybe in the same moment in another time, they wouldn’t have said anything. 

This is heard by dozens of young cadets, and this is imprinted. 

This probably doesn’t matter to any future moment. Why would it? 

This is an important moment. Rarely do the scientists allow any of their products something as trivial as a _choice_ in what they do. But today they are allowing them to choose what weapon they wish to practice on. 

Two clones go for the same blaster. They realize it simultaneously, and there is no discussion or thought as one nods and then chooses another. All blasters are the same. But not all actions are the same. Another two may have fought over it, silently, and let it fester between them, creating bitter rivals. Another set might both have offered to the other. Or maybe any action would just have been done and forgotten by all parties, because it really didn’t matter. It was Free-Choice today. Today the clones can choose. 

And yet, is it really a free choice, to choose from a few paltry options when outside this planet there would be infinite? 

Does making a choice that’s really not a free choice matter? Does the outcome matter? Who knows if the illusion of choice does anything in the moment, except make a few clones happy? 

There is a moment in every clone’s life when he decides his name. It is an argument that there is about as much choice in their name as when they could pick any weapon they wished, because there is little they truly experience. But it really doesn’t matter, does it, because it still is a choice, and one the long-necks aren’t testing or even know about. 

CC-2224 chooses his, and maybe this changes subtly in the future because others mispronounce it and he will not correct them. CT-7567 makes a choice. CC-1010 and CC-3636 and CT-5555 and all the others make a choice. 

Names probably don’t change the future. 

It’s not even a moment’s decision. Clones don’t get moments, and they don’t get to decline, even if it’s offered like they could. They are always already assigned. It seems like a game the scientists have, asking as if any clone has the option of choice. He says yes before he can process anything else. 

It is a little worrying today, because sometimes, very rarely, a clone might take the place of another clone. Perhaps someone has to go to the bathroom, or maybe one forgot a padd. Just a few seconds, nothing important, harmless, it wasn’t like he was taking a test for the other. The scientists can’t tell the difference, and neither can the majority of the trainers. They appear as a sea of identical fish in the school. It’s not _that_ big of a deal. 

It changes nothing, the unintended clone agreeing. All the clones have the same future, after all. 

And it’s not like they could have said no anyway. 

No one says no. 

To be honest, he doesn’t even know what he agreed the other to, blind from panic because it had taken a fraction longer to recognize _he_ was currently his friend. It’s not like he was used to responding to any number but his own. 

It is a moment, however, that is not quickly forgotten by his friend. Pretending any of them had an illusion of choice meant this choice was taken from him. 

He is not mad at his friend, not really, because there is no choice, but he is vindictive. It’s a principle. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet our medic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly thought I posted this whole thing as one go, because I never pay attention to anything I do. This at least gives me a chance to add notes.
> 
> The big one is, this is pretty orignal character specific, which is usually hard for me as a reader to relate, but very easy for me to write.

CT-1234 waits exactly one second after the door shut before punching CT-1833 hard in the shoulder. “Tell me where it hurts,” he hisses, “so I can punch it again.” 

“And you said you’re not medic material,” CT-1833 says, grin broad on his face. 

“Do you have any idea how many more modules I’ll have?” 

“Yes, but would you really want _me_ to be the medic?” 

There is a strong beat of silence. 

“Yes.” 

“Wow, really?” 

CT-1234 considers his friend, considers whether they could completely switch identities so the longnecks wouldn’t notice. He honestly considers it for several long minutes. 

No. No, they couldn’t, because CT-1234 is too stubborn to change, to have to _become_ CT-1833. He’d rather become just a medic. (He never weighs in 1833’s opinion, it's not something he does because it is a waste the time. 1833 rarely has opinions, he’s not command track, just a common foot soldier, trained and ingrained to follow orders. Except when he doesn't, when he is distracted and doesn't hear. Not that 1833 would absently just _not_ hear him – or anyone, really, that isn’t good for any vod, but 1833 is good at slipping through cracks and getting away with casual disobedience – or would do everything he asks without question, but there’s a strong chance 1833 could do it and become a _better_ 1234, likely without even trying. That is _not allowed_ nor a risk 1234 is willing to take.) 

“You are now and forever my practice patient, so I can kill you with impunity.” (He is not _really_ going to try to kill 1833, but saying things like that is supposed to be jokes, several of his vode have told him. He doesn’t find it very funny, because if someone ever says they are going to kill him, CT-1234 will take that very personally and will resort to fighting very dirty to not be killed.) 

This seems like a fair deal to 1833, and he agrees. (He understands usually this is a joke, but 1833 isn’t certain if 1234 is joking. Even still, he does agree he would deserve being murdered.) 

1234 rolls his eyes. “Maybe then next time, you’ll volunteer yourself.” 

“That is a dumb idea. Never volunteer yourself, always volunteer the one not around to say no.” CT-1833 laughs and ducks away from his swearing brother. 

“I’m not a good medic.” Chaos – name chosen because it is anti-thesis to what he is, and if you have a number like his, you do not pick Count or Numbers or Beat but he did consider I’m-Warning-You or Don’t-Make-Me-Get-To-Five , but then realized his numbers themselves were warning enough, he shouldn’t have to spell it out even more obviously – is only repeating what others in his modules say, when they think he doesn’t hear them. But he hears everything, and it burns something inside him, not being good, too conditioned to worry about disappearing, and it makes him angry at the fear. 

Butterfly – named after a set of stitches he usually sports somewhere – sets his hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be a great medic. You haven’t killed me yet.” 

“Give me time.” 

He _tries_ to get better, he does, but … well, he doesn’t understand what he’s really doing wrong that makes him a poor medic, because he is doing everything right by the modules and the longnecks don’t complain. (What Kamino scientists think is acceptable and what any vod patient thinks are two _very_ separate things.) 

Butterfly suggests, off-handed, maybe he just needs more practice running tests, and they find a small out-of-the-way storage room with some older or broken scanners. They are fixed, if not by Chaos and Butterfly, then by vode Butterfly can ask. 

(If Chaos thinks about it, he would be jealous that Butterfly can speak with other vode, sit with them, joke and tease and not end up in fights. Butterfly always knows when someone has picked a name, when someone succeeds (everyone knows when someone fails), and what each vod likes best. While Chaos thinks such information unnecessary to know and more bother than it’s worth to find out, he buries his envious feelings that others _tell_ Butterfly this information, and they don’t to him.) 

(Chaos is also unaware Butterfly has bribed many vode with favors. It is not worth mentioning to Chaos, who would just be upset at Butterfly doing so, and Butterfly has no issues getting into kitchens for the promised bribed treats, because he is also friends with the staff there, and they owe him many favors for the bacta he gives them because Chaos is a medic and has to know how to synthesize it, and he’s shown Butterfly. While Chaos sees no reason he has to keep synthesizing it once he’s proven he can, Butterfly sees a lot of reasons, because there are a lot of vode. And a lot of vode like the bacta Butterfly makes in excess. He has small stretch of vent filled with his bacta and the things others have traded for it, and he has three droids the splicers have altered to sign off it is cleaned regularly. Chaos is aware of the vent, of course, but he is uninterested in learning about the details except to randomly demand his friend bring him bacta to sample and make sure it’s good enough. He does not tell Butterfly this, but he thinks it’s silly Butterfly feels he has to make his own to repair his injuries, Chaos will _always_ make sure he treats his friend, it isn’t a bother at all. Butterfly insists he _always_ uses Chaos’ supply, and if Chaos asks about the vent supply, and Butterfly repeats himself. Perhaps he thinks because the original sample was Chaos’, all of it is? It does not matter, because at least Butterfly has access to bacta.) 

They often spend their off-hours in this little sanctuary. It is _theirs_ , and Chaos always passes time by practicing, be it stitches or diagnosis or using the scanners. He likes looking at the scans, and so does Butterfly. Butterfly sees imaginative pictures, while Chaos sees … he sees. 

There is a new scanner, an atomic brain scanner, their vode have finished repairing and the doids have moved. Chaos has wanted to try it for months, but the Kaminoans say they don’t need to know how to work it, it is beyond their scope, which infuriated Chaos. (Oddly enough, it had been damaged by droids a few weeks after Chaos had ranted about the unfairness, he is a medic he _deserves_ to know how to work every scanner he wants, and other droids had reported to the Kaminoan scientists it was irreparable, and then it had been retrieved before it could be crushed, and the exact damage had been told to vod mechanics. Butterfly had smiled at Chaos’ wide eyes as he darted around it, hands ghosting over it, and decides he very much likes being the vod who gets others what they really want.) “Just _lay down_ ,” Chaos growls, anxious to try this, “and _don’t move_.” 

Butterfly smirks and closes his eyes. “So what am I dying of this time?” It is a silly game they still play. It keeps Butterfly from being bored as he makes up the elaborate backgrounds for these injuries, and it helps Chaos learn how to think quickly when Butterfly ends up making broken legs being caused by elaborate food poisoning – and having to explain why he doesn’t have any sign of it, it must be a certain kind of poison but which kind? - so the story still makes _sense_

Chaos pushes at the screen controls. “You had a bomb go off in your face, set by me. I am removing the evidence, but first I got to find the all the shrapnel that’s buried in your face and brain so Bomber can’t reconstruct it.” 

“That’s a boring way to go. I liked the last one better.” 

Chaos pauses and tries to remember how he last killed his brother. 

“You rigged all the rocks in the course to crush me, but I avoided all of them because I am a graceful ballerina and so none of the injuries matched. So you actually pushed me down the stairs to kill me.” 

That was one of Chaos’ more imaginative solutions to Butterfly’s odd curves. 

“The rocks should have worked,” Chaos mutters to himself. “Don’t know how you missed them all.” 

“I told you, I’m a ballerina.” 

“Ballerina away from my bomb, vod.” 

The scanner lights up, and if it is a little uncomfortable, Butterfly does not complain. He is mostly bored, because he’s not _that_ familiar with different types of bombs – he really only remembers two types – and he’s decided it was planted in a maroon-colored tree that lives underwater. Or that’s what he’ll say, but then it'll turn out he’s colorblind and he’s not actually sure if it was maroon, but it was definitely grey, and the tree actually _ate_ the bomb and it never exploded at all, and that means the bomb did not kill him, and Chaos loses because he didn’t kill Butterfly, something _else_ did. Finally, the drone changes pitch and he can get out, and he says, “There’s something wrong with your face.” 

Chaos doesn’t respond, didn’t even hear, as he stares at the results. 

“You’re supposed to say, no, there’s something wrong with _your_ face,” Butterfly whines, “so I can say your face is my face. See, then we’re both right. Chaos? Chaos. Come on, that’s funny. Stop being so medic.” 

“There’s something wrong.” 

“With my face, yep. I had a bomb go off in it, remember.” 

“No, with your head.” 

“Because of the bomb? My face is part of my head?” 

“No, I’m serious.” Chaos looks up at his brother, face ashen. “There’s something wrong.” 

“Oh.” Butterfly considers this, tapping his fingers on his chest. “Not a good wrong, then?” 

“A good wrong?! This is a … you’ve got a tumor in your head! If the longnecks find out – oh, sheb, they can’t find out, they can’t.” 

“Maybe you made a mistake?” 

Chaos’ face twists. “I’m not going to make a kriffing mistake using a scanner!” 

“Maybe you did!” 

“I didn’t. I’m a bad medic, but I’m not that bad.” 

“You’re not bad. Maybe … maybe the scanner’s still broken? Nothing hurts,” Butterfly says, touching his head to feel if it suddenly will hurt now that he knows about it. “Can’t be anything bad if it doesn’t hurt.” 

“That’s not how things like that work, Butterfly. It’s not like resetting your nose after I punch you.” 

“Might still be the scanner.” 

“Might be,” Chaos agrees numbly, because he is a bad medic. He can't remove the tumor from his best friend’s head. 

“I bet everyone who gets scanned is going to have the same tumor. It’s just a broken machine, that’s why we have it. It’s broken.” 

“Butterfly ….” 

“It’s broken,” Butterfly repeats, annoyed at the mechanics and droids for missing something when all the information was right there, they just had to follow it. “It has to be. No way I’d … no way the longnecks would … it’s not there.” 

“I’m not going to tell them, I’ll replace any scan you ever get with someone else’s, no one will know,” Chaos promises, planning how to use his medical access to keep this secret. 

“It’s broken. I know it is.” 

He needs to scan himself now, to have something ready to replace Butterfly’s. “Yeah, we’ll check.” He’ll save his to a data chip, carry it with him so he could overwrite anything. Medical clearance is good for something. No one would know. “Here, let me show you how to work this.” He doesn’t want to hurt his friend, to show him the truth, but he needs the scans. 

It takes Butterfly a few tries to get it, as always. Butterfly is never quick, never understands on the first explanation, always distracted by some little thing. Should have known, should have realized, all the signs were there. But Chaos is used to that, could be patient as he watches his best friend’s hands shake. 

The scan is done and he quickly stands up to see the results, ignoring Butterfly’s hovering. 

“See, see, it’s the machine, isn’t it, Chaos?” Butterfly asks, hands wringing. He _knows_ is it just a simple mistake, he _knows_ , but … Chaos has to say it too. “It made you have it too, didn’t it? I mean, I’m surprised it showed you have a brain, actually. Chaos? Chaos, what’s wrong?” 

No, no this isn’t _right_ , he can’t save Butterfly with this, it’s wrong, the dark mass taunting him. “I … I don’t know. I got a tumor too.” 

“You do?! No. I mean, of course you do, see it _is_ the machine. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it,” he whispers to himself, hands tight on Chaos’ shoulders. “Not defective, not defective, it’s okay.” 

“Or we both are.” 

Chaos bullies other medics, the only others he has enough of a relationship to demand they follow him without too much explanation (only because they know Chaos will not give it, it is more productive to just let him do what he demands unless they’ve decided they’d rather spend their limited free time battling a losing argument with him), into trying the scanner, to see if it’s the same. It is, and while they might panic, Chaos starts getting angry. 

Once is happenstance, and that’s it. There are no coincidences in clones. 

The medics have a meeting in the little hideaway. Enough go through the scanner to hypothesize it is everyone, not just a single generation or batch. Butterfly sits in the background, not ignored so much as not part of the discussion, but neither is he unwelcomed nor unwanted. Where Chaos goes, Butterfly goes, and the reverse is true as well. He decides he likes watching the medics have a meeting, even if he really doesn’t understand what they’re talking about. He finds them amusing, the way they yell and get glare-eyed and grim grins and threaten each other with hypos and broken body parts and murder-that-looks-like-accidents, threats that are close to promises. 

Butterfly is probably the only non-medic vod who isn’t scared of medics. Most of the medics consider this a flaw, Chaos included. 

There are a lot of overlapping conversations and voices. No one has really become _head_ medic of the medics. Oh, some have _tried_ , based on scores or tests or personality, but there is something about medics. They have not yet fallen into a natural command track like the others, there is still a pecking order being established. It doesn’t really work to have them challenge each other in hand-to-hand, so Butterfly hypothesizes it’s because all the medics yell, and so far none of them has yelled loudest. 

“Maybe Prime has it and he’s fine.” 

“He doesn’t. At least according to his records.” 

“Maybe it’s a fault of the cloning process.” 

“That the Kaminoans missed? Yeah, right.” 

“Who said they missed it? Might have put it there themselves.” 

“But for what reason could they have?” 

“It’s probably from the accelerated growth.” 

“Question is, is it going to be a problem?” 

“Might. Might get bigger.” 

“Look where it’s located.” 

“That’s a bad spot, right at the cortex, that’s going to mess with higher functions, decision making.” 

“Heh, might explain some vode.” 

“So what do we do?” 

“We gotta remove it.” 

“We can’t remove _everyone’s_ , and not get any longneck to not notice us doing thousands of surgeries.” 

“Why do we have to remove it?” Chaos asks, staring at the screens. 

All the medics are so used to dealing with an arguing Chaos, they stop their own conversations to give him their attention. Some look at him in disbelief, shock, agreement, or worry. 

“What, you want to just leave it there so it can grow and disable who knows how many of us?” 

“I didn’t say that! If we assume the Kaminoans know about it – which they probably do,” he spits, thinking about _why_ the Kaminoans didn’t want them to use this scanner, a scanner that _shows_ this tumor, “they’ll notice it’s missing even if they don’t notice everyone sporting the same cranial scars. We just calcify the tissue and kill it.” 

The medics consider the idea. It is known Chaos is the worst medic among the clones, but he’s not _incompetent_. He’s the worst because he is not a medic at heart, and he is not good at pretending to be something he is not, and it shows in his work. His stitches are always just a little uneven, his attention on symptoms a little distracted unless he likes a patient, his work just a touch harder than necessary, his plans less orthodox. He’s not a good medic, but that does not mean he is not good at healing. Sometimes, rarely, he might be better than others, because unlike the other medics, Chaos will take the risks. Chaos will take a choice others won’t because to him there is no point in not solving a problem completely. 

He is always the first to suggest amputation. Always the first to try dialysis. To throw the whole ship in when the shuttle would do. 

Chaos would kill more than he’d ever save, if he is put in charge of a medbay. Everyone knows this. 

But he’s also the one to throw at the hopeless cases. When the option is death anyway, Chaos can’t make it worse, and sometimes he can effect a change. Rarely, it might even be positive. 

He continues ruthlessly. “If we get a sample of the tumor and tag the divergent cell base, we could synthesize a vector to naturally calcify it. Easier and more subtle to stab someone than schedule surgery.” 

“Assuming the tumor even has a distinct cell base. We could calcify everyone’s hearts.” 

“Well, it’ll be easy enough to have a benign radiographic tag to see when it binds to first.” 

“You’re both talking about treating our brothers like test tookas.” 

“Or ourselves.” 

“Someone would have to have the surgery to remove the tumor, to get the samples.” 

“Without the longnecks noticing.” 

“You make that sound like a challenge.” Chaos crosses his arms, hard and unforgiving and practical. “We can’t do everyone.” 

“Not immediately.” 

“If we even have to.” 

“No, not ever. We don’t know what these does, we need to study it,” Chaos corrects. 

“Now you actually are talking about treating us like tookas!” 

Chaos glares. “We don’t know what these are for, what they do. We’ve got to study them, figure them out. We can’t do that from calcified ones, and we can’t if all samples are the same age, and we can’t have _everyone_ not have it if the longnecks do a random spot check.” 

“I’ll keep mine,” Butterfly volunteers helpfully, raising his hand and leaning over behind them, as if reminding the group he’s still here. He likes to be involved. 

No one doesn’t notice, except Butterfly, how much Chaos does not like that, but he does not argue. This is his argument, he cannot make favors for his friends. Friend. Doing so would weaken him, and he will not be weakened, not for something like friendship when it is for the good of them all. “Obviously none of the commanders should have it. Or maybe just one, as a control. And I’m not saying we force anyone to keep it if they’re against it, but we need a wider sample.” 

“What if this is something we’re supposed to have?” The vod is only asking to be thorough, he doesn’t believe anything the longnecks do is for _their_ benefit. It’d be to make them better soldiers, if anything. “Makes us process situations better than the Prime, where it’s located.” 

“The Prime processes situations just fine.” 

“This narrows information to a single line, that would bog intake of information, it should have several access points to bring in _more_ information simultaneously, not stagger it to a one connection.” 

“He’s right, and this, there’s no redundancy or safety net. This goes down, higher function could too.” 

“I can’t see the longnecks letting _that_ slide.” 

“Seems like a _flaw in the product_.” The sound and accent give everyone chills, the vod’s talent at imitation are _that_ good. 

It’s unsaid but heard by all, if this is a flaw the longnecks _don’t_ know about, _all of them_ are getting decommissioned. The Kaminoans take pride in their work, they would not allow any flaw to go through, especially not a flaw a simple clone found, which meant, to them, their potential customers could as well. No longneck would _ever_ allow _that_ embarrassment. 

They have no choice but to believe the Kaminoan scientists know about it and are fine with the potential for such an obvious handicap. 

Everyone agrees, even Butterfly, who agrees because he always knows who the medical experts are, and because he does not want any of them to be decommissioned, so the medics _have to be_ right. 

“You take lead on this,” one says to Chaos. It is because Chaos is the one who found it, and all the medics sense this is a problem that he will not drop and, _if_ it is something they have to worry about, it will have to be handled indelicately, because if this is a problem with all of them, they can’t afford to be delicate, not with everyone’s lives on the line. 

Chaos accepts. “It’ll take us at least a year to figure out a tag under the longnecks’ faces, we can decide who it’ll be then. But right now, just medics need to know. If we get deployed before we have a solution, then we bring the commanders in.” 

“They won’t like that.” 

Chaos scoffs. “No commander is ever going to be in charge of medical, and they better get used to that.” 

It takes two years for the medics to create a procedure that works safely, consistently, and, most importantly, secretly. It is made easy when they learn the tumor isn’t even the same genome as any of the clones, fully artificial and inserted knowingly for reasons as yet unknown. (More proof the longnecks know, the vode are safe from mass decommissioning, all the medics lose millions upon millions of stress on their shoulders that day.) 

A tenth of the medics have had surgery to remove the tumor, across the range of generations, something to study and use, and the rest have acted as test subjects. It is then they gather a handful of vode who are ranked for higher command track, because they can’t gather everyone and keep everything secret. 

Chaos is not intimidated by any commander’s anger at being told now instead of before. He is more angry that they think they can tell him what to do, medically. Medics out-rank _everyone_ , medically. They do not get to question him here, because here he is in charge. 

At least none of them think about they shouldn't worry about the tumor, because no vod trusts the longnecks, and even if they did, Chaos – always prepared to be questioned, to prove himself – has a careful comparison between the few vod without the tumor to the majority who do. The difference is not statistically different, even if right now one side is just medics. None of the Commanders even consider one set did not go through the hell that is training on Kamino. 

(Armed with this information, there had been and still is a fair amount of medics who argue against doing anything with the tumor. It is there for a reason, obviously the Kaminoans know about it and they just haven't told them, the added risk to any trooper for the treatment and the necessary time needed to get everyone make it a higher risk than a possible benefit. Chaos tears into all of them for their short-sightedness – and talks over their counters of his own – and demands if this tumor was in a heart, a lung, a muscle, would they do nothing, why is the brain less? Tumors don't belong. And if it does, for some reason, medically they should have been told, but they weren't, ergo medically it shouldn't be there do not kriffing argue with me. 

The commanders side with him, so he wins.) 

(They side with him not because they necessarily agree more with him, but they know a losing battle in another department. This will not be dropped and someone has to solve it so work can get done. They agree tumors are bad – the utterly simple message Chaos said and they understood without further explanation and the other medics ultimately couldn't deny - ergo they will be nullified.) 

The commanders leave to tell the others, so they can all agree to do what Chaos is going to do anyway. 

All of the commanders hope he does not become one of their medics. 

And so on Kamino, it starts that the medics would speak with all the clones during routine health screenings. Based on a Chaos-approved script, which is quickly edited by other more patient-competent medics, they calmly explain the tumors, the risks they’re aware of – which isn’t any, except that tumors shouldn’t be in anyone’s head, so maybe headaches in the future? Possibly growing? – and their plans to address it. Each clone has an option of taking a series of injections to calcify the tumor or not, but at any time they may start or have the tumor removed surgically in the future. It is always quietly explained out of earshot of any Kaminoans what this was for and why, and the importance of not missing any injections until the tumor is fully calcified. 

More than half agree to the injections – they understand the crux of Chaos’ (heavily modified) simple message of, _Tumors are Bad and Do Not Belong Anywhere Inside Me, Especially in My Brain_ , and then most troopers make a logical addition of, _and It’s Not A Good Thing But the Longnecks Know About It, Kriff Them_ – and when the war starts, half more request a quiet surgery and a new tattoo to cover the scar. Some will even still request the surgery and tattoo even if they don’t officially need it. The medics will get it down to an art, it was hardly a few hours of time, barely worth any mention in any reports that they never made on it. 

Chaos is one of the few clones who knows _where_ he is going to be stationed even before there is officially a war. He is going to be stationed somewhere all other squads and battalions will _eventually_ go, so he will always be able to subtly have access to any vod. It means he will not be on the front lines, which angers him more than anything else, because he hates being a medic and forced to fight other battles first. 

To make up for it, he’s taking Butterfly with him. He’s not asking or demanding, simply stating a fact, when he informs the commanders. 

The commanders let him think they’re giving him permission for this. In reality, they all agree Butterfly is a much better point of contact person than Chaos himself. 

(It angers him, when he is stationed on Coruscant, to find he is the _only_ vod medic assigned. The official line is Coruscant is not an active front, it does not need higher numbers of medics, when one is enough to instruct droids. But Chaos understands enough to see that on Coruscant, it is not important to anyone in charge that injured vode are healed. On Coruscant, he sees that if something is broken, it is easier to buy a new one to replace it, and that includes them.) 

It became part of the standard practice for all shinies’ physicals when they reached their new assignments. The medic would inject a harmless glucose tag, and if nothing lit up on the standard scanner – no medic ever has access to the level five atomic scanner – the medic would make a special notation if the vod was Chaos Free or Chaosed. (This is _not_ an approved labeling by Chaos himself. Outwardly, he despises the use, but to himself only, he’s unsure, because Butterfly thinks it’s funny. He’s not sure if this is a joke the rest of the vod – but not Butterfly – are having at his expense or not.) If the Chaosed vod wishes to change their status, usually two or three injections were enough. This is perhaps the one visit no clone puts off. 

Outside of the initial explanation, it was not spoken of. It was something all clones knew, and all kept close. Cadets being trained on Kamino as medics are drawn in as quickly as possible, before the older ones are shipped to their assignments, and experienced medics at any station always make sure shiny medics are caught up to speed and added to the Incoming Chaos Notices. (Another name Chaos does not approve, even though it is completely accurate, as he sends regular communications, digital or hard depending on the sensitivity level, and not just about the tumor. Because he is assigned a hub station, it means it becomes his responsibility to share all updated medical information. He just … feels it is another joke at his expense.) 

(It is a joke, albeit one not at necessarily at his expense. Because Chaos always sends information packets of new medical requirements from Coruscant or updated formulas for vaccines or new antidote solutions, _Incoming Chaos_ ends up meaning medical scrambling to do a lot of work quickly, because Chaos _follows up_ to make sure all the medics are following the new standards. He does it strictly for the research on his tumors, not because he thinks other medics are lazy or won’t do it without his dogging them, but he is undeniably relentless.) 

It annoys Chaos, later, when he is stationed on Coruscant, that’s his regiment has a higher than average number of vode whose tumor is active. It messes with his analysis, that his station is stupidly a random outlier, even if it does mean he has ready access to any needed data he might desire. It does not occur to him there is a very particular reason for this, that even though he is a medic perfectly capable of giving the necessary injections or doing the surgery, it is a very strong fact he is not patient-friendly. The vode who still have the tumor do not necessarily mind having it, because usually if Chaos needs something, Butterfly gathers it, though all would freely admit they’d probably have asked to have it removed if they’d have been stationed _anywhere_ else. It is a non-issue, because Chaos admits there is no true difference to those with and those without. 

In the end, it is a choice they can freely make that harms no one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any of the beginning ideas -- or none of them -- could have made it possible for this story to happen. The events did not have to happen to Chaos and/or Butterfly, because any small change could have potentially changed anyone's lives. 
> 
> That said, I feel at this point it's Butterfly's kindness in obtaining the scanner for his friend is what sets this particular branch in motion. It's nice to hope a moment's kindness can save the galaxy, and no one would ever know it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time goes by, and we end up into Season Six

Chaos will demand of his fellow medics random scans or other data, demands it for those with and without the tumor, because he is thorough and has no pity making someone else work. If at the start a few medics don't comply with his _polite_ requests, eventually all just do it because Chaos is not above tattling to the commanders and being in general a royal pain in the shebs to get his way. ( _Incoming Chaos._ ) One can only avoid his calls for so long, and it really ruins a medic's reputation as terrifying if one of the troopers see them being berated by Chaos, who most of the GAR only know as kind Butterfly's friend – everyone knows Butterfly, he's very social - which creates a rather imperfect impression from brothers’ who’ll never meet him that nonetheless works to Chaos'favor. 

The medics sometimes have to involve a commander for the stranger requests, and they make it up as a random sharpshooting drill or memory challenge or brainteaser to their generals and natborns. And if the jedi and natborns take part, their information is sent too, because it can serve as another control. The Challenges, as they’re colloquially named by the unaware, became a sort of game for the rest of the troops, attempting to best each other or another battalion, and it’s a further game to try to splice into the results to get the standings, except no medic keeps the results digitally, or at least connected to the rest of the network for the brief period the information is saved. A lot of the vode get a higher respect for medical confidentiality than it necessarily deserves when no one can. 

(Chaos will eventually relent to releasing some of the results for the Challenges, or, more apt, he lets Butterfly do it. Butterfly understands what amuses troopers trapped on ships, and it is being better than other ships and each other. Depending on the results, he might set it up GAR wide, or break it down to station. Sometimes he even separates out the Vode, Natborns, and Jedi, because he doesn’t always think it fair certain Jedi or clones always put certain squads in the lead. He likes doing it because he gets to use the Incoming Chaos Notice, and he knows _his_ results will cause chaos everywhere, not just in medical.) 

But Chaos also has other standing requests. If someone has the surgery, calcified tumor or not, Chaos demands the samples of every twenty-fifth. If a vod with an active tumor dies, he indelicately requests the tumor of every fiftieth. 

(Chaos has records of when any vod dies, carefully annotated if the tumor was active or not. He forces himself to see data, not brothers, compares the numbers to see if there is any difference, if having or not having the tumor influences likelihood of death. But this is a hard study, because this is war, and Chaos can see patterns very clearly. He sees more patterns in who the vode serve under, where they are stationed in the galaxy, length of deployment. He sees little if the tumor makes it better or worse.) 

He sends Butterfly to get whatever he requests, in hardcopy form, never digital or over the comms, because his paranoia is deep and none of the vode are sure this is allowed anyway. Sometimes this means Butterfly leaves the planet, hopping between battalions, acting as courier for other messages between high command or dealing with contraband. (Butterfly is the _best_ at getting contraband through any sort of check. It honestly annoys many commanders, who later find tookas who have had kits and poisonous plants on their ships and none of them _have any idea how he did it_ he was searched fifteen times! It is worse because he often brings things none of the vode will admit requesting, even if they all enjoy the chaos Butterfly leaves behind when he leaves Chaos’ side.) 

Cody glares at Butterfly while the man cheerfully hands Obi-Wan a tin of tea that makes the jedi smile brightly and thank him more effusively than dried leaves should warrant. 

“And what else do you have?” he asks sharply. The vod _had been searched_ , there had been _nothing_. 

Butterfly smiles. “Nothing, sir,” he says, always truthful to a fault. 

“Well, I do thank you for this, Butterfly, it’s been years since I’ve had this, it’s a wonderful blend,” Obi-Wan thanks again, holding the tin reverently. 

“Always happy to help, General.” 

Cody narrows his eyes, just daring him to mess with his ship and crew. There will be _no glitter and chemicals_ this time. (He said that last time.) “Have you been to medical already?” 

“First stop, as always. Chaos insists.” 

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Chaos.” 

“Don’t worry about it, General. You’d just annoy him. He doesn’t like Jedi at all,” Butterfly said cheerfully. 

Obi-Wan blinks and looks at Cody, who withholds a sigh. “He doesn’t mean how you think, sir. Chaos is a medic.” 

“Ah, that does explain it.” 

“Yes,” Butterfly agrees, loyal to another fault. “You give him headaches.” 

“My apologies. We don’t mean to, I’m sure.” 

“Don’t worry, everyone gives Chaos headaches,” Cody says dryly. “And he gives everyone headaches in return. But he’s a good vod.” He distinctly does not say he is a good medic. Cody has standards about telling the truth to Jedi who will know if he’s lying. 

“The best.” Butterfly nods and says, “But he has been reading about midi-chlorians and they annoy him, so jedi annoy him.” 

“Oh, what is his interest there? I’m sure the Jedi in the temple would be happy to answer any of his questions.” 

Butterfly reports, “He has been and they annoyed him more. He wonders what genetic predisposition or sequence favors midi-chlorians to prefer one being over another and no one is useful.” 

Cody and Obi-Wan both stare. “How do you mean?” 

“It obviously would have been much more efficient for this war to have had force-sensitive clones, instead of the Prime, but of course the cloning process for force-sensitive is hit or miss, apparently, they don’t tend to be viable, which Chaos suspects is simply because one can’t create midi-chlorians from nothing, as they are apparently also a lifeform, and they probably naturally infuse into a growing being by some sort of sensory trigger. Given its probably only a certain number of midi-chlorians in a certain area and they spread out all natural unless they’re in a force-rich location, in which case they pool, it’s probably the case of the few midi-chlorians trying to join with the clones, but the balance isn’t right or something, Chaos was very wordy on it and I just nodded and asked why not just clone in the force-rich places instead of Kamino and he pointed out a map and said these weren’t laboratory safe and they were religious anyway, and it’d be wrong to do it there. But anyway, he said there probably is a favorable genetic line that naturally attracts them, since it runs in families, and since not a single clone is force-sensitive, showing it’s really not a numbers game. He’s been comparing sequences in everyone’s code that’s been archived, and he says there’s a bunch of similarities he’s found but it’s pretty much just all annoying anyway, because then he pointed out that if that was the case, it’d be very easy to synthesize a virus to either add the genome to everyone and maybe make everyone force-sensitive, and that would maybe make us better soldiers and then he said the jedi could stop fighting and dying because they’re really not very good peacekeepers when they fight, or worse, to make it to destroy or replace it in force-sensitives and take away the ability permanently if the Seps figure it out first, so he’s trying to stay ahead of it.” He nods, pleased with his report, and grins. “Don’t worry, sirs, Chaos will figure something out. He always does.” 

“He’s doing this on top of his … other tasks?” Cody asks, working to make sense of Butterfly’s infodump, because this is how Butterfly always delivers reports, and Obi-Wan seems to be in the same situation. 

“Of course, sir. It’s his hobby. He needs a hobby, since he can’t shoot any Seps.” 

Obi-Wan, still grappling with a rather frank but not necessarily incorrect opinion of Jedi in war, says, “It is … an interesting theory. And he doesn’t work with any of the healers?” 

“Chaos … doesn’t work well with others, sir,” Cody says ruefully. 

“Yes he does,” Butterfly argues, then adds, “sir. And it’s just a hobby. No need to bother other medics with their important work.” 

“He just adds work to their work,” Cody points out. 

“To make more work for himself,” Butterfly counters. “In any case, Chaos also said the virus and genome sequence could be a big problem for us anyway, if the Seppies ever get an original idea in their head.” 

“Oh, how so?” Obi-Wan dares to ask, while Cody frowns. Nothing Chaos points out is good news. 

Butterfly blinks. “The whole of the GAR is one DNA sequence, sir. If they develop a virus against us, they’d wipe us out entirely within a few days. Chaos said we’d be dead before we even knew it, if it wouldn’t kill him too, he could make up something in an hour. Kamino only made us resistant to disease, but I guess between our rapid-aging which already compromises our DNA structure, and just being all clones, we’re just sitting ducks. And since we’re clones and not seen as real beings by the galaxy, it’s not even illegal by Galactic war standards.” He nods with the aplomb of someone who is told this numerous times every few weeks, because he is. “Soon as the Seps figure that out, the Republic’s gonna lose, Chaos said, cause we’ll all be dead and there’s no way they’ll be able to conscript and train enough natborns to replace us, and Kamino will have to start fresh or just get a new Prime. Probably a new Prime, but then it’s the same problem, and the Seps know get rid of clone armies then. So yes, the Republic would lose, and that would be bad.” 

Cody and Obi-Wan do not share his composure internally, though externally they do. 

“Damnit, Chaos,” Cody mutters. Why does he tell this stuff to Butterfly, who always tells it to everyone else? It’s probably all over the GAR the Seppies are working on this virus. (None of them have to know that Seppies have worked on a potential virus, because as non-medically trained as the majority of the GAR is, they do know viruses mutate, and that’s why they need several injections sometimes. A virus made once would only cause undue worry the troops do not need.) 

“He does put a lot of thought into these, doesn’t he? We’re lucky he’s on our side.” 

“That is right, sir,” Butterfly agrees. “Well, I’d best be off. I want to talk to some of the other vode, sir, general.” 

“Do _not_ give them anything, Butterfly,” Cody orders. 

Butterfly blinks, confused, before smiling. “Don’t worry, commander. I’ve nothing to give.” He leaves with a nod. (Butterfly works in favors, trades, or pure currency. He gives nothing away, but what he sells, that is a whole different tale. He is not aware there is a nuance in his logic others would find fault. Chaos is always very careful on how he words things with Butterfly, which is fine, because he also prefers precision, and it is not Butterfly’s fault others do not.) 

“Oh dear. More glitter, Commander?” Obi-Wan asks, absently, and if Cody had thought they’d gotten away with that fiasco, now it is proven they hadn’t. 

“No, General, I’m sure there won’t be.” So Cody _sometimes_ lies. And he always hopes. 

“How likely do you suppose that … possibility could come about?” 

“Hard to say. You, sir?” 

“Pointed out so bluntly, I’m surprised we haven’t already,” Obi-Wan says grimly. Count Dooku knows his classical warfare. “I think, perhaps, I might like to meet Chaos.” 

“Not something I’d recommend, sir.” 

“I’m sure he’s not all that bad.” 

Cody considers his vod and his General. “If you want to willingly go to the medic the other medics fear, far be it from me to stop you.” 

“Oh, but you’ll go with me, won’t you?” he grins. 

“General, I’ll follow you anywhere. It is just I will be following quite distantly behind you.” He wonders if he should mention the knives. 

“I didn’t think you were scared of anyone.” 

He snorts, quirking his lips. “No one is scared of Chaos. It is just that no one also volunteers to visit him, unless they want to turn into a lab rat.” He remembers the last set of data Chaos had demanded, what Butterfly was picking up. It had been a long week trying to solve that damn test, and Cody had not made the best time, which is embarrassing as Marshal Commander. (As Marshal Commander, Cody has access to all the results – but only of whatever ship he is currently on. He has no idea where he or his troopers ranks against the whole of the GAR, which vexes him and all other clone commanders, competitive to a fault.) 

“Ah, the Challenges, I presume, are his then.” 

He blanks his face and tries to look confused. It does not fool Obi-Wan. 

“Don’t worry, Commander. I don’t think any less of you coming in second. Anakin came in quite a bit lower in the 501st.” 

“And what did you come in, Sir?” Those results are confidential until Chaos releases them, and even if, Obi-Wan hadn’t been on either ship during the last round, and Cody wonders if there is a snitch or if Obi-Wan somehow spliced the standings. 

“Oh, I can’t remember. At least now I know whose ordering them. I was afraid it was the Senate, for reasons as of yet unknown. It does put my mind at ease that is just a medic on a power trip.” 

“Chaos has his reasons, General,” Cody says, maybe a bit stiffly. He might not like Chaos very much, but he does agree his brother is looking out for them. Cody understands more than many that sometimes you can’t be everyone’s friend, not if you’re looking out for everyone. “Not Senate-related.” 

“My apologies. It was a poor joke.” 

He hums to acknowledge. “Tell me, did you ask Butterfly for the tea?” 

Obi-Wan gasps, perhaps theatrically. “My dear Commander, I would never endorse smuggling contraband onto our ship. Though I do wonder who suggested it to him,” he muses. (No one _suggests_ things to Butterfly. Butterfly makes his own observations and decides if getting someone to favor him in the present is worth something in the future. He knows all of the Jedi Generals’ and Commanders’ weak spots, the natborns’ too. He chooses to accommodate them based on how much he favors them and how likely they will favor him back. Butterfly is an _excellent_ judge of character.) 

Cody considers perhaps Butterfly is toying with him. Too much time around Chaos. 

Chaos is annoyed, because his sample set – _his_ sample, not some other medic’s sample – remains a consistent outlier, and he remains calm and composed as he growls, turns, and embeds a blade into a spot by the door, which has just opened and drawn his volatile ire. Butterfly gives the blade a bemused look, as it had missed him by inches. This does not worry him, as it missed him by inches. He pulls the blade out, handing it and the case over with an inquisitive, “Something wrong?” 

“We’re outliers, _again_!” Chaos fumes. “What are we doing so different? It makes no sense.” 

“We don’t fight Seppies as much, that’s probably it,” Butterfly assumes. It is the only difference he can think of, being a Capitol Guard and being stationed elsewhere. It is an obvious difference that no one misses here. The Capitol Guard is seen negatively by the rest of the vode, a belittling station not one of them chose (well, except Chaos, but he never counts) but who have to suffer the stigma. 

“That makes _no sense_ ,” the medic growls, digging through the case. “Ours, on average, have a consistently higher blood flow, are ten microns bigger, have positive signs of some growth or activation in the neural net. If the assumption is to help the war effort – not that I’d ever believe a longneck – this makes no sense, we’re bloody crowd control here!” He whirls and embeds his blade again. “There’s got to be something else, something I’m missing. Something obvious.” 

Butterfly offers no suggestion, because he’s learned obvious things are always the least obvious. Instead, he says, “I drew a new tattoo. It was a long flight.” 

Butterfly is covered in tattoos, under his blacks. Sometimes he’ll sit in the corner of the office with a tattoo gun, absently doodling on a patch of his skin, going over the same areas, layers and layers. There are just random squiggles of different colors he can obtain on Coruscant, and what pictures he does have are poor, because Butterfly is not any sort of artist, and his lines are awkward and uneven in any pattern in his attempts, if he even finishes them, because sometimes he’ll stop working on one area and start another. He barely notices the pain, if only because Chaos is always generous with the bacta and bandages for his friend. 

Chaos does not have a single tattoo. He thinks tattoos are stupid, and anyone who has one is infantile. (Except Butterfly, always the exception. Butterfly having tattoos is merely Butterfly not having any flimsi to draw on when he is bored, or a product of always at risk of losing something he put a lot of work into, or simply trying to remember something for later.) 

“Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out,” Butterfly continues. 

In the back of his mind, Chaos doubts. He’s got so many theories, so many tests done on so many samples. He’s got three that are showing promise, tumors in solution hooked up with an electric current going through them on his back counter (Butterfly has named them, ignores Chaos’ proper labels), but he doesn’t _understand_ what he is seeing sometimes. He does so much research his head spins, but he can’t ask his fellow medics, because they are far away – and then sometimes they die, which ~~hurts~~ is an inconvenience to his research – and he won’t involve the Jedi because they ordered them, he can’t trust them, no matter how kind they initially seem, and he never will ask any Kaminoan scientist for help. His medbay is only a little more high-tech than what is found on any ship, because he is a clone and they do not deserve the nice things the Galactic Medical Center has, and Chaos refuses to go there and use their scanners and labs, because that would leave a trail, and he has no reason to give for a clone needing to use them anyway. 

He feels like he’s failing. 

“Did you check all of his scans?” General Skywalker asks 

Kix considers his answer as he stares at one scan in particular, the glucose tag showing a specific area lit up, the unusual activity. He knows the protocol for this, Chaos’ paranoia that so far he has no reason to go against. “Yes, I have. As far as I can tell, this is a combat related stress. It seems as if he’s had some sort of breakdown.” 

Rex disagrees. “Kix, you should know better. We’re designed to withstand any stress.” 

“I agree,” Fives supports. “We’ve been through a lot together. He doesn’t seem to remember what happened. It’s like he’s sick or drugged.” 

“Well, it could be a virus, a toxin.” The medic considers his words. “Something chaotic.” 

He sees Rex and Fives stiffen. They realize when he means, what he implies. Or at least Rex understands more, as a commander who is aware of the continued scans and tests everyone is subjected. Fives only knows that there is a tumor. Kix knows both of them are Chaos-free, just as he knows Tup is Chaosed. As a medic, he knows this information about everyone, while to the rest of the troops, it is nothing worth speaking about, a choice the vode can have that harms no one. Or maybe it does, he worries, considering Tup. 

General Skywalker is unaware of their silent conversation. “Let’s talk outside.” Once they are out, he asks, “You mean the enemy could have made him do this.” 

General Tiplee agrees. “It’s a possibility. There have been rumors that Separatists have been trying to develop an anti-clone virus, biological warfare.” 

Kix remembers the hidden meeting, so long ago, when Chaos told all the medics about the tumor, how most of them – Kix included – did not think it something to worry about. But it was a flaw in their genome – and later, they learned not their genome, something the scientists inserted, for reasons unknown – so there was no reason to just not let whiny, paranoid Chaos have his way, let his focus on something he was good at, which was basically not letting him near any patients. Now he wonders if he owes his vod an apology Chaos will never accept, and he wonders … Tup killed a General, he says following orders, it is located on the cortex. But no, he is being like Chaos, too paranoid. They were made for the Jedi, for the Republic. Still, he can only admit, “Listen, we aren’t equipped for this type of situation. He’ll have to be taken back to Kamino. Only then will you have your answer.” Or at least, Chaos would point out, the answer the longnecks would give. It would be an answer, at least. 

His brothers do not leave him when the Generals do, and they go to Kix’s office, grim-faced. 

“It’s that tumor, isn’t it, the one all you medics said we could get removed or killed if we wanted, isn’t it?” Fives demands. “That’s the only time I’ve ever heard about chaos in our health.” 

Kix hands Rex the scans, scans he’ll have to send to Chaos and then bury, as per Chaos protocol. No one is to know they know about these, and Kix wouldn’t _miss_ this even if he wasn’t aware of its meaning. “It’s becoming randomly active, triggering his cortex. It’s … it’s blocking or over-riding his thoughts.” 

“You knew it could do this?” Fives seethes. 

“No, we didn’t! If we knew _this_ could happen, we wouldn’t have given anyone a _choice_ ,” Kix snaps. 

“Why don’t you just remove it now?” 

Kix shakes his head. “Because everyone knows something is wrong, and if it is the problem, it’ll just put more scrutiny on Tup when it’s not there for them to find. It’s _safer_ for Tup if someone else finds it.” 

Fives scoffs. 

Still looking at the scan, Rex doesn’t know what he’s looking at, not really. “Chaos didn’t realize?” 

“This is the first scan I’ve ever seen where the tumor’s active.” It’s lit up, anyway, the pathways more vibrant than the usual lines of bloodflow, as much as this scanner is able. “Chaos is a bastard, but he would have told us to watch out for this.” He would have demanded all medics figure out _how_ to get it lit up, what happened when it did. He’d be demanding if Tup was the norm or an outlier, if Chaos-free vode had a similar area lighting up. It would have been so much work that Choas would have demanded, there is no way Chaos knows about this. “I guarantee he’s never seen it either.” 

“Who is Chaos?” Fives asks. 

Rex explains, “He’s the medic heading the investigation on these tumors. He found them, right?” 

Kix nods. “Yes. He’s stationed on Coruscant, under Fox.” 

“Lucky bastard,” Rex grins, and Kix chuckles back. 

Fives does not get the two-sided joke. “Why Tup, what’s happening? Is this going to have to everyone who still has that thing?” 

“I’d say it’s more likely than those who don’t.” Kix crosses his arms. “I’m going to recommend to Chaos everyone get it nulled or removed.” 

“Obviously! Tup killed a General, he’s not himself, he doesn’t even know what he’s doing.” 

Kix warns them, “I can recommend all I want, but there is no way Chaos will endorse it, not until we know what they do.” 

“He’s going to make our brothers keep those in their heads?” Fives demands. 

Rex puts a hand on his shoulders. “Easy, Fives. Chaos won’t demand that, he’s always been fair to say it’s a brother’s choice, but he’s the only one who can give blanket orders to null this thing. You want to argue, you talk to him.” 

“Good luck,” Kix wishes. 

Fives clenches his hands. “Why?” 

“Because until we know _why_ it’s there, Chaos won’t give a blanket order for removal. He doesn’t like us having them, not at all,” Kix interrupts Fives before he can interrupt him, he won’t let Fives think that of Chaos. Chaos hates this tumor more than anyone, and Kix isn’t sure if it’s because he doesn’t have an answer, if he just hates that Kaminoans put it in them, or if it is still lingering panic when he first found it in his only friend. But no clone lets their fear make their decisions, least of all Chaos. 

“But Chaos, and us medics, and the commanders, we all agree until we know why, it’s better to pretend we don’t know about them. Better the issue we know about than them changing it and us having no idea. I _knew_ to look at this for Tup, whereas if they do something else, I’d be lost. Might just be the longnecks messing with us, that is the prevailing theory the rest of us medics have, give them a way to _improve the product_ , but … it’s entirely possible the Generals are right, that this is a Separatist plot.” 

He looks away, towards where Tup lays. “It’s why I said to take him to Kamino, instead of Coruscant and Chaos. We medics never figured out _why_ this tumor is there. We just assumed they did it for some claim of improvement, but there’s been nothing supporting that theory. But if it makes us kill our generals, there might have been sabotage at the very start. Maybe the longnecks _don’t_ know about it, hard as that is to believe. Maybe we’ll finally get some answers.” 

He turns back that Rex. “That said, I will be pulling up a list of all Chaosed vode and giving my strong recommendation,” — that’ll draw Chaos’ ire, doing this before there are any facts or proof, based on one single instance, but Kix has a responsibility to his men first, and Chaos will understand that too, he won’t even comm to yell, he’ll just be more curt when the next set of Challenges come through – “and I will be letting medics in other battalions know, and I’ll get getting a case ready for Butterfly.” It’ll be a busy month, because at least 28% of the men are Chaosed, and the 501st has one of the lower percentages. 

It surprises none of the medics or commanders that the Coruscant Guard sits at a very robust 68%, even if it is very clear by Chaos’ reports he has no idea why and it frustrates him. 

Rex nods, while it takes Fives a few moments to figure out the connection between the best clone smuggler of contraband and all this information. “I’ll get it set up.” He considers Kix. “Do you think I should set up getting the Generals up-to-date?” Cody is on Coruscant, it would fall to him to convince Chaos. 

Rex is that much of a bastard. 

Kix considers. “It … might be time to let some know. General Tiplar is dead, because of this. I’m not saying Chaos was wrong or her death is his fault, but … it might be time.” 

Flicking through the flimsi printouts, Chaos thinks this theory might be correct. He’s scaled up the tumors, his own little cloning project on the sly thanks to Butterfly’s help – it doesn’t occur to him to ask Butterfly where he got any of this, because Chaos has long accepted Butterfly always has too many things he doesn’t need because he accepts silly things as gifts, and Butterfly knows it really is better if Chaos doesn’t know, he’d just worry – and yes, there is some degradation with the increased size, but … it really is remarkable, in a sick, twisted way that this is what is/was in all their heads. 

It almost -- _almost --_ makes him agree the Kaminoans are worth their claims of perfection. 

He doesn’t have a cloned brain to hook them up to, but just hooking them up to a simple computer and if he just _activates_ this area by this small electrical charge, the data stream is cut significantly, and it’s different at different areas. He just has to figure out what is being allowed through. There are several spots of patterns ... 

The door opens and he tosses his three blades in quick succession, snapping, “I’m busy!” 

Someone swears, not in a tone he recognizes, and Chaos whirls to see a trooper staring at his blades that were inches aware from him, why was he looking so terrified, Chaos isn’t going to hit him unless he wants to – and even then, probably not, because that is just _so much_ paperwork and incident reports and _stitches_ and he’d have to deal with Commander Fox and his useless orders about not throwing knives at people, when Chaos does not throw knives at people, he always throws knives at the wall next to people, why does the commander always bring up that stupid rule, Chaos isn’t breaking it. All the troopers in the Guard know he’d never hit them. 

(There is a sign, outside medical, warning in Clone Code, which is Modified Mando’a, to Beware of Thrown Knives. Chaos doesn’t know who put it up and thinks it stupid, no one should be scared of him throwing knives, he’s a medic, he’s not going to _miss_. He’d take it down, but Butterfly says it is good for moral, one of those little squad jokes no one else outside of the Guard understands, creates solidarity. Chaos finds, once again, he doesn’t get the joke, but since Butterfly says it’s a good thing, he lets it stay. 

Commander Fox owes Butterfly a favor in the future, which Butterfly plans to never cash in, because it drives Commander Fox spare to owe another vod anything.) 

“Who are you? A new transfer?” he snaps, slamming his data into a drawer that locks automatically, and grabs a handheld scanner. “No one tells me anything. Sit down on the table.” 

“Umm … Chaos?” 

“Are you drunk?” Chaos demands, stalking and pulling out his blades. “I don’t treat drunk people, get out.” Even as he speaks, he grabs the vod’s face and checks his pupils. 

“You’re … Chaos? The one studying the tumors?” 

Chaos pulls back, eyes narrowing. “What tumors?” he counters. He doesn’t know this trooper. “Who are you?” 

“I’m Fives … Kix said ….” 

Chaos swears. He saw the notice about a renegade clone, but he’s never expected to leave his medbay, medics aren’t. And the idiot came _here_. 

“The tumors … they’re chips … inhibitor chips,” Fives slurs, grabbing his arm. “You have to tell everyone to get them out.” 

“What the kriff did you do, you kriffing idiot?” Chaos hisses, grabbing a communicator. “Commander Fox, this is Medic Chaos, I’ve got eyes on renegade clone, CT-5555.” 

“What?! What are you--” 

“Affirmative, to your location.” 

“You ... you traitor, you’re in on it, you -” 

“You kriffing idiot,” Chaos counters, stabs Fives perfectly, and watches him drop, blood pooling. There is going to be so much paperwork. 

Fives groans and blinks alive. 

“Hello!” A grinning face of a brother appears over him, hair all flyaway instead of in the neat braids he usually wears. 

It takes Fives a moment to recognize him. “Butterfly?” 

“Oh, that’s good, your memory’s intact. Ah, easy, you’ve had a rough couple days.” 

“That he deserves!” 

Fives eyes widen and he points. “You stabbed me, you tried to kill me, you … you traitor!” he coughs, and reluctantly takes the water Butterfly gives him. 

Chaos approaches and points at his face. “Listen to me, you debrained white paint, I did not try to kill you.” 

“He didn’t,” Butterfly agrees. 

“I’m a damned medic, I know how to stab people to kill them!” 

“He does.” 

“I wouldn’t miss, you were right in front of me!” Chaos rubs his face as he turns away. “You came to my med-bay talking about tumors, on _recording_ , as a clone being hunted, of course I had to stab you! How else am I supposed to make everyone think I killed you? Think about it.” 

“You really didn’t give him any choice,” Butterfly supports. “Although, Chaos, he was drugged. It’s not completely his fault.” 

“He’s an idiot who was trying to do investigations, which is very above his skill set.” 

“Now wait a minute.” 

“I’ve seen the report of Kamino,” Chaos says. “You’re a kriffing idiot whose doing his best to ruin years of work. And thanks to you, I’ve lost one of my tumor samples!” 

“What?” 

“You don’t have a tumor, but you needed one for the autopsy, which you weren’t going to get because you weren’t actually dead and despite what everyone thinks, I do not have a stockpile of spare bodies lying around -” 

“I’ve never said you did, it’s not my fault everyone thinks you do.” 

“- so then we needed a reason for why you don’t have tumor in your head, which means you used my equipment to do it to yourself – that was so much splicing – which means I had to get one from my samples.” 

“We used Kevin.” 

“BH-TSAT,” Chaos corrects. “You made so much work for me, I had to submit a report to the Chancellor.” 

“The Chancellor, he’s in on it!” Fives interrupts. “I … I know, he did -” His memory is foggy, but he knows … he knows the Chancellor is involved, somehow, but he can’t remember how he knows that. 

“It’s the drugs,” Chaos says. 

“I don’t like the Chancellor either,” Butterfly says, patting Fives’ shoulder. 

“But the fact is, you were drugged. Someone wanted you killed, so I killed you. Problem solved.” 

“Chaos is good at solutions.” 

“So what happens now?” Fives asks, becoming a little exhausted. He looks around, they are in small private barrack, probably Chaos’, as this looks too good to be for a trooper. 

“Well, now you are CT-9813, assigned under Butterfly.” 

“I told Commander Fox it’s getting too difficult to be the only one running the files out,” Butterfly says, making a face. “That’s a lie. It’s not too difficult.” 

“Everyone knows it’s a lie, so it’s really the truth,” Chaos consoles, “and no way Commander Fox is letting this one off planet, not with that knee.” 

“What’s wrong with my knee?” Fives asks, flexing it tentatively. Nothing appears hurt. 

“It’s a cover, for why you never leave the planet, just do office type stuff. You’re too injured to protect yourself or anyone,” Butterfly explains. 

“So you’re useless,” Chaos adds. 

“Hey! I learned more in one day than you have in years,” Fives challenges. “The tumors are really inhibitor chips, they can control any clone, and the Chancellor is in on it and the Kaminoans.” 

Chaos glares, turning away. “You think _that_ outdoes everything I’ve learned about these things?” 

“It really doesn’t,” Butterfly says. “And we already thought half of that was true anyway.” 

Fives jumps as Chaos drops a stack of flimsi next to him. “ _That’s_ everything I’ve learned, condensed, trooper,” the medic snips. “You think I didn’t realize they can influence us? I know they trickle information into our cortex, they limit our ability to take in new information, of course they mess with us! You think I didn’t realize the longnecks know about them? You think it hasn’t crossed my mind that the Chancellor knows exactly what they do to us? But do you know what they can make us do, huh?” 

“Kill the jedi,” Fives says, chin out. 

“And what else?” Chaos challenges. “There are over 100 pathways in each of these tumors, what else can we be made to do?” 

“Killing the jedi seems pretty bad.” 

“We’ve already got orders to kill the jedi,” Butterfly argues, and both Fives and Chaos look at him. “We also have orders to kill the Chancellor, or all the senators, or killing everyone in a community to get a guilty person, or throwing away our communicators.” 

Fives sputters. “Those aren’t _real_ orders, they’re never going to happen, they’re just fanciful worse-case scenarios. The Jedi would never betray the Republic.” 

Butterfly looks skeptical. “Some of them would. Right thing, they’d do it. Everyone knows General Skywalker would burn a planet to save Senator Amidala.” 

Fives is ready to jump to his general’s defense, ready to punch Butterfly for the slander, but Chaos asks, “What is the exact wording of the one that we are ordered to kill the Jedi?” 

Butterfly parrots, “Order 66: In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander, i.e. Chancellor, GAR commanders will remove those officers by lethal force, and command of the GAR will revert to the Supreme Commander, ie Chancellor, until a new command structure is established.” 

Chaos hums. 

“I hope that one doesn’t happen,” Butterfly nods. “I’d hate to really have to obey the Chancellor all the time instead of the Generals, most of them are much nicer than he is.” 

Fives is a little horrified. He knows the Chancellor is in on the chips, he could order them to kill the Jedi. Just … decide one day to go crazy. He’s old. Humans go crazy when they’re old. Or forgetful. He could say the wrong order, thinking he’s getting a caff! “You’ve got to tell everyone to remove those chips.” 

Chaos doesn’t appear to hear him and Fives stands to grab him and shake him. “Are you listening to me? AHhh!” 

“Would you like me to stab you again?” Chaos asks, his grip and angle very painful, and point of a blade very pointed against Fives’ skin. “You are under the mistaken impression you can tell me what to do, in my medbay.” 

“We’re not in your medbay, Chaos,” Butterfly points out. 

Chaos lets Fives go. “You just _panic_ at every little problem. Think! We need this to remain a secret to the Jedi, the Kaminoans, the natborns, the Chancellor, and, based on your response, every single vode in existence because they’ll be _idiots_ ,” he says, blade tip counting off on his fingers. 

“They have a right to know,” Fives grunts. 

“They have a right to peace of mind!” Chaos snaps, blade embedding into a wall. “I’ve seen every single report on vode with the tumor still active, and you know what, some of those reports are pretty damn close to some of those _fanciful_ orders. Did they have a choice? Were they following orders? Or were they following _Orders_? You want to go to the 782nd and tell them about the coup? The 921st about the three villages? The 77th and the crops? We’ll follow procedures, which you have no idea about because you’re an idiot who thinks we’ve spent years not thinking of contingency plans.” 

“That is mean of you.” 

“They still have a right,” Fives repeats. “And they don’t deserve to keep that thing in their heads.” 

“They never deserved it,” Chaos counters. “We never did. But tell me, who ordered it there? The Chancellor, the Jedi, the Separatists? Who took our choices away? Who's the real enemy?” 

“It doesn’t matter, just get them out of everyone’s heads!” 

Chaos sighs. Why is he surrounded by idiots? 

“Fives, what if the Jedi are bad?” Butterfly asks. 

“What? They’re not, they’ve fought and _died_ with us.” 

“But what is they are? We have a responsibility to the Republic to protect it. Tyranus used to be a Jedi, now he’s a Seppie. Could just be a big conspiracy,” Butterfly says sagely. 

“It’s _not_. Not that conspiracy.” 

“Okay. What if it’s the Separatists? What if the orders are all messed up and Order 66 is really Order 6? We kill all the Jedi instead of throwing our communicators away and they we just get false information and we kill more people.” 

“So get rid of the chips! Problem solved!” Why can’t they get such a simple concept? 

“What if it’s the Kaminoans, and we were made actually for the Seps, we just take the Republic captive and they win? What if it’s the Senate, and it’s for the good of the Republic? What if it’s the Chancellor, and he makes us his personal army and we take over everyone for him.” Butterfly leans forward to whisper. “He’s really not a nice man.” 

“He didn’t drink the caff Butterfly got for him,” Chaos explains, leaning against a table. 

“Or thank me. I’ve given every single senator a caff or drink of choice. And then another of _not_ their choice. It’s important to know if they drink it or say thank you.” 

“What?” 

Butterfly explains, “You don’t figure out the character of someone how they treat their betters or equals, but how they treat who they see as their lessers. There are a lot of mean senators here.” 

“Senators are sub-beings,” Chaos scoffs, “it goes without saying.” 

“What did Senator Amidala do?” Fives asks, curious. 

Butterfly tilts his head. “She’s not the worst, but she’s not the best,” he settles. “She tries to be a good senator, and she’s loyal to the Republic, but she’s got a line that she’ll put in front of the Republic. She shouldn’t be married to a Jedi during a war.” 

Fives eyes widen. “You got that from her saying thank you to a caff?! Wait, she’s married? To the General? What?” 

Butterfly nods, unaware of the reason for Fives’ surprise. “She’s also pregnant.” 

“What?!” 

“You didn’t know?” Chaos asks. “Everyone knows.” 

This is not strictly accurate. Butterfly knows, hence Chaos knows. Chaos knows Butterfly does not snoop, therefore he believes it is simply common knowledge he picks up during his guard rotations. And Butterfly does not snoop. He is very observant, and he dislikes being bored during his rotations as a guard, and hence knows quite a lot about the interpersonal relationships of the Senate (and most of the GAR in general). He tells Chaos because they are friends. 

Fives shakes his head and wonders if he can pass this intel to Rex. “Does it really matter who put the chips there, they have to come out, before whoever activates them does? You know I’m right.” 

Chaos is looking down, tapping his fingers. “Butterfly, can you get us something to eat?” 

Butterfly smiles, patting Fives’ shoulder. “Nerf burgers sound good. Be back in ten.” 

Fives smiles back and sags, rubbing his face. And then he feels the facial hair. “What the?” 

“You can’t look like Fives,” Chaos explains. “I had to stimulate hair cells and clear your tattoo. Do whatever you want with it, but don’t look like yourself.” 

He swears, moving his hand up to his head to feel the start of a braid and ghosting down to feel until he reaches the tail. “You gonna back Kix’s recommendation that everyone gets this out of their heads?” 

Chaos prays for patience, knowing it’ll never be answered with this one. He has to have _everything_ spelled out. “You really don’t understand _anything_. Why do you think I asked Butterfly to leave?” 

“Um, for food?” 

“He’s still got the tumor. I can’t _discuss anything_ like that in front of him, because he might be a sleeper. I can’t give him _confirmation_ one way or another. I can’t discuss this with any vod who has the tumor, in case there is a failsafe.” 

Fives stares. “But … but we’ve already had it removed, some of us.” 

“That was us worrying about our _health, not the security of a possible breach_. And you notice, you were never told the tumor could control you, only that it might grow or impede or cause headaches, none of the real reasons you ever find out until you _lose the tumor!_ " Chaos releases a deep breath. “I communicate _strictly_ with tumor-less vode, because we all know they will not be influenced by the tumor, whatever its purpose. 

“Obviously, you’re unaware that the Coruscant Guard tumors are, on average, larger than and have more blood flow, which implies they might have been growing, possibly supporting a theory that they were a built-in expiration date for us, so the longnecks never lose their business, but if these orders and mind control the tumors are growing because they’re being _used_? Well, this means whoever knows about the tumor’s full potential is someone who has access to the Guard, which means they are on this planet and have full access to the Guard, because it’s across the whole board, not just one or two outliers. That does not limit our options, because there are still Senate members, the Chancellor, the Jedi, and Separatist spies on this planet." 

“Doesn’t … Butterfly already know everything?” 

Chaos glares. “Butterfly knows I examine the tumors and want to know why they are in us. He knows I have a lot of dead ends. He knows I’ve a lot of failed theories that piss me off. But he _does not_ know all my theories or tests, or my results, or at least whether or not they prove anything. And all of GAR know I am a paranoid bastard with theories of viruses and nanites and every other conceivable form of control and illness that’ll bring down the GAR, I’m the kriffing joke of a medic who got assigned medic instead of shock trooper and am endlessly bitter about it. All this is true, painfully, humiliatingly true, and all this can be repeated to whomever and it won’t be questioned. Let the bitter little medic search for conspiracy theories, we’ll see how close he can get.” He takes another deep breath and releases it, relaxes his fingers. “You have to watch what you say in front of Butterfly, in front of _any_ vod you are not 100% is tumor-free, because we _don’t know_ anything about these tumors. Chips. Whatever they are. The point is, I _never_ suggest mind-control, I state they limit decision-making, because tumors in the brains _do_. I never suggest one suspect, I say all of them, especially the one outlandish ones. 

“Now, think about this, if you can. There is strong evidence that the Guard has routine contact with whomever did this, and _they don’t know_ because of the tumor, or they think it’s normal because the tumor is messing with higher brain function. The tumor is now gone, they are now confronted with the bad guy, and the bad guy now knows something isn’t right, they’re not obeying orders or whatever they’re supposed to be doing. Kriff, time to move things up or try something else we don’t know about. We’re on Coruscant! The Capitol. With world leaders and the Chancellor just sitting there, helpless, when we just take control of those who we still can.” He laughs. “Did you know, there is on average 2,500 vod per Jedi, trapped on each ship or site, loads higher if you don't include the outposts or places without much Jedi oversight, just the fleets? Did you know, there’s three Vode per Senator, six for the Chancellor? The Seps could have all of us surrounded, and we don’t even realize it.” 

Fives forces himself to swallow. He knows the chips are bad news, with what happened to Tup, but Chaos keeps pointing out how it’s so much worse as a Separatist plot than he originally thought. “So what do we do?” 

“We accept Coruscant is a lost cause, I can’t remove the tumors without giving anything away. We start by ordering the remote sites to get the tumors removed, the support troops, the clean-ups.” 

“Why them first?” 

“Because they have no contact with anyone important,” Chaos informs, his annoyance clear at having to spell everything out for such a slow vod. “Those are quick and easy, those can be cleared in a week, even with their numbers. And there are _numbers_ , we have to focus on numbers and strategic location. The medics on the battalions, they’ll start slow once I send a communication. Nothing that’ll make anyone wonder about so many medic visits, the uptick in supplies needed. And … and if we can get 95% or higher out, we decide if we can risk clearing the Guard.” 

Fives sits, confronted with the logistics and thinking this _is_ a bit over his skills set. They’re quiet until Butterfly comes back with bags of food. 

“So what’s your name?” Butterfly asks. 

“Oh … umm ….” 

“Do _not_ pick something with _meaning_ ,” Chaos says, disgust clear at the sentimentality. “No names in memory of or revenge or silly little in jokes. You’re supposed to be dead, be dead. The point is to keep you secret, and if you’re going to be an idiot and pick a name that would make one of your friends realize you're you, I’ll save myself so much headache and kill you right now.” 

Fives makes a face but settles to consider a name while they eat, and then watches as Chaos checks the time and waves Butterfly over. “Your shift starts soon, you can’t go like that, Commander Fox already wrote you up once this week.” 

Butterfly makes a dismissive noise, unconcerned about Commander Fox and his rules, but sits and lets Chaos quickly settle and braid his hair into odd stripes while he finishes drinking his shake. 

(Chaos is good at braids, his fingers medic-trained. He can weave them into impossible patterns, and they are far better than any stitch he’s ever made.) 

“You’ll go with Butterfly,” Chaos says to Fives, “he’ll get your kit and introduce you to everyone.” 

“I hope you like Red, it’s our color,” Butterfly informs, as if Fives has no idea red was the Guard’s color. “I don’t really like red, personally.” 

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Fives says, because Butterfly’s kit is covered in a dizzy array of patterns. 

Chaos wears a medic’s uniform, no armor. (He _hates_ it, looks jealously at everyone else, but he’s a medic on Coruscant, he has very little reason to ever need to be in armor, he’s been informed it scares civilians to see medics in armor when he is occasionally assigned to help at civilian centers. Armor is not _his_ uniform, and so his kit is gathering dust on a shelf. He tries to soften the anger by helping Butterfly paint new patterns every week, but it really doesn’t help.) 

“I think I’ll go by City.” 

Butterfly nods, while Chaos tries to determine the meaning, if it’s a choice he can veto. “Okay, City.” 

It’s rude to ask why a brother chose a particular name, but Chaos is a medic, and that job requires asking rude questions. If he ever had shame, it has long been trained out of him. “Why City?” 

Fives grins. “I’m a CT. C-T, City. Get it?” 

Butterfly laughs while Chaos turns horrified. “I should have killed you.” 

Fives’-City’s grin widens. 

“Puns are the lowest form of wit,” Chaos informs. 

“Only if you don’t think of it first,” Butterfly corrects, still laughing as he slides his helmet on. “Come on, City. Time to get to work.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A poor negotiation, and Clone Command gets caught up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's implied Clone Abuse in this chapter. Nothing explicit, but it is strongly implied Bad Stuff Is Done To Clones

Obi-Wan considers the sign and looks at Cody over his shoulder. “Should we be concerned?” 

“If there’s a sign, I don’t think so.” 

“Well, forewarned is forearmed.” He enters and barely twitches at the solid thump three inches to the left of his ear. “Hello there.” 

A scowling medic doesn’t turn away from the trooper he is examining. “Wait your turn!” 

Said trooper, down to his blacks and realizing who the knife has been thrown at, turns grey. “Erm, Chaos--” 

“Do _not_ think you are getting out of this any longer, Klondike. You’ve been dodging me for weeks, you’ve had me hunt you out and waste my valuable time, you are taking this like a soldier!” 

“OW!” 

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” Chaos says, releasing the empty cartridge. “Don’t be so dramatic, you’re acting like a shiny.” 

“A pleasure, as always, Chaos,” Klondike mutters, rubbing his shoulder as he stands up. 

“You are allowed one treat from the jar on your way out,” Chaos informs, disposing of his used supplies. 

Klondike rolls his eyes and, with a glance over his shoulder at the medic, clearly takes two, then seems to remember who is in the room with him. Cody gives him credit for not replacing the extra, saluting, “General Kenobi. Commander Cody.” 

If Klondike expects Chaos to falter at higher ranked commanders in his medbay, he has yet to learn Chaos is the ultimate law in the medbay and fears no one when he’s inside it. 

Obi-Wan waits until the door shuts before he clears his throat. “It’s a pl-” 

“Have both of _you_ had the inoculation to the parasite of Ringo Vinda?” Chaos asks, snapping a new cartridge into his spray. 

“I have,” Cody says. He waits a beat while Obi-Wan panics, trying to remember. “It’s not required for Jedi.” 

“Not required is not the same as not necessary,” Chaos states, stalking forward. “What’s good for the vol is good for the vom.” 

“Now I really don’t think it’s necessary, I mean—OW!” He rubs his neck. “You are quite … quick with that, my dear doctor.” 

“You caught a Jedi, that is an accomplishment,” Cody agrees, face innocent behind his helmet as Obi-Wan scowls at him. 

“You may each have one treat from the jar,” Chaos informs, but otherwise ignores both of them, tapping on his padd to update both Klondike’s and Obi-Wan's records. 

“Even Cody?” Obi-Wan asks, peering inside and considering. “He didn't get a shot.” His tone clearly states this means he does not deserve one, and Cody agrees. Watching his General receive any healthcare is reward enough. 

“I’ve double-checked his claim, he didn't lie. Not lying to a medic is also rewarded.” His face twitches a little. “But I've been informed lying and still receiving the treatment do not cancel each other out.” 

“An experiment in positive reinforcement?” Cody asks. 

“No, apparently it is standard in medical clinics on Coruscant, I’ve been informed by some of the natborn in the clinics I’ve been forced to assist at. Their cadets were very insistent about that when they explained it to me, even when I pointed out it didn't make sense to get something unhealthy during a wellness check.” 

Cody accepts the candy and tucks it in his pocket. 

“I suspect the men enjoy getting them,” Obi-Wan says, sucking on his. 

Chaos scowls. “They enjoy taking two behind my back or trying to sneak in and steal them.” His frown deepens. “You are … remarkably behind on your vaccines and inoculations, not to mention standard exams, for someone who is injured as often as you are.” 

Obi-Wan considers his words, rolling the sweet around his tongue. “I will get right on that, I would hate to waste any of your time. I know how valuable it is.” 

“I can’t believe Bones lets this slide,” Chaos ignores, speaking to himself. “I’m sending him a strong timeline he will be following immediately.” 

“Now, wait, that’s not necessary, I’ll see the temple --” 

“I’ll send it there too, is this this your usual healer listed, never mind, I’ll send to it everyone. This is unacceptable, I will be making a formal complaint for derelict of duty to your entire medical staff.” 

“I’ll expect it, Chaos,” Cody says calmly. He wonders if it’d be a breach of privacy if the medics post it for everyone to see. Maybe that will teach his general his actions have consequences. 

“Cody!” 

“If they can’t even control _one_ Jedi,” Chaos trails off, composing his various missives. 

“You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you,” Obi-Wan states, feeling very betrayed by his not-so-loyal commander. 

“I did warn you.” 

“You did not.” Obi-Wan would have paid more attention if he were told he’d be at risk for hypos. 

“I think I’ll recommend Chaos as your personal healer,” Cody muses. 

“You will not,” Chaos says sharply. “This one is a speeder wreck.” 

Obi-Wan is a mixture of relieved and offended. 

“I’ve already got sixteen squads in a challenge to see who can avoid me the longest and a Commander who is useless at telling them to knock it off. Do you know what Klondike’s pot is at for winning?” Chaos asks. “It’s frankly appalling they put their health at risk for games like that, and you want me to babysit a Jedi whose health intelligence does not speak for itself.” 

“How much was that pot at?” Cody says, ignoring Obi-Wan's offense. 

Chaos mentally reviews the odds – Butterfly, who never takes part (and has been deemed by the Guard as ineligible anyway), knows all the odds and always is helpful in telling Chaos where the missing troopers are hiding – and tells him, and both are impressed. 

“That is a good win,” Obi-Wan admits. It is at least three months’ worth of wages for a natural born officer, which means it is a _very_ good win for a clone trooper. 

“It’s dangerous,” Chaos snaps. 

“Yes, it is,” Cody agrees. Being hunted by Chaos is probably half the appeal, along with the pot and bragging rights, while the other half being an excuse to avoid him. He can see the bruise on Obi-Wan's neck starting. 

“I’ve made numerous complaints to Commander Fox,” Chaos continues, petulant. 

“How soon does Commander Fox receive his required injections?” 

Chaos considers the question. “He’s very busy, but it’s very easy to find him within a few days.” He believes it going after low-hanging fruit. 

“Ah. The trials of being the Commander, being easily found,” Obi-Wan comments and sees the point miss Chaos completely. 

Chaos’ padd pings and he nods. “All of your healers have received my orders, General, Commander.” 

“Oh dear.” 

“Thank you, Chaos.” 

“Now why are you in my medbay?” 

“Butterfly mentioned you were studying midi-chlorians,” Obi-Wan says. “I was curious to what you’ve discovered. Temple Healers have been working on it for thousands of years, a fresh perspective is always interesting.” 

Chaos is not amused. He understands – has learned – those sorts of statements are belittling, natborns do not take his research seriously. And Jedi are worse, when they think they have the market on studying Force nonsense. He does not like the Jedi healers, almost as much as he doesn’t like any natborn healer he is forced to communicate with. Both sides tell him he is wrong or making some silly mistake or doesn’t fully understand because he’s a clone or doesn’t have access to the Force so he can’t. He does not need to hear he is “doing a good job – for a clone” from anyone, pandering or sincere. “I’m busy.” 

“Perhaps at another time?” 

“I’m always busy.” 

Cody considers saving this conversation, but he also really doesn’t want to deal with arguing with Chaos about Obi-Wan knowing about the tumors-chips-whatever the appropriate terminology is currently. He agrees with the several recommendations from medics and other commanders that the Generals should be brought in now, but he does wish the responsibility of convincing Chaos didn’t fall to him. 

(Some commanders have pointed out that it no longer matters if Chaos approves, everyone else has decided this is a GAR issue, ergo now outside of Chaos’ purview. Cody has calmly agreed and stated if they felt that way, they could go ahead and deal with Chaos themselves when he found out they’d removed him from being the head of the Tumor Issue. 

There was some grumbling but a disappointing lack of volunteers to proceed without Chaos’ expressed approval. For a medic who never leaves Coruscant, Chaos certainly has instilled a respectable amount of fear into the Clone Commanders. But, then again, it’s every medics’ MO to complain to Chaos about something trivial to get him to call up whichever commander pissed off which medic. Even Bones isn’t above it, and Cody had had a two-hour discussion that essentially boiled down to Cody _has no choice_ but to do what Bones wants, medical outranks everyone, which is absolute bantha-shit, Cody is the kriffing _Marshal Commander_ he outranks everyone but _fine, medical’s climate control settings will be fixed immediately I have so much more important work to do than argue about this with you! And so do I, you are wasting my time— **I’m** wasting **your** time?! Thank you for agreeing with me, oh no don’t you disconnect on me._ If it wouldn’t have resulted in _another_ comm call from Chaos, Cody might have punched Bones’ face when _needlessly_ came to pick up the signed-off the maintenance request that had been on Cody’s desk for two weeks.) 

The choice to move the conversation is taken from him when the door opens with a cheery, “Oh, Chaos, thank you, I have won _so many credits,_ I have brought you donuts _oh kriff_.” 

“Fives?” And it is Fives, armor painted red and hair in a long braid, and missing his distinctive tattoo. Cody knows his brother, and Obi-Wan knows the soldiers of the 501st. 

“This is City!” Chaos says loudly and directs a blade, not at _Fives_ standing in the doorway with a box of pastries, but at a wall next to a very distinct sort of cabling. Cody catches the warning, and so does Obi-Wan. “My current _pest of an assistant I am going to kill_.” 

“He says that with love,” Fives manages to grin, looking between Cody and Obi-Wan. “I brought treats!” 

“Those are _not_ healthy, your cholesterol is already up.” 

“Let’s speak in your office,” Cody interrupts, because he’d like the story about this, and not the official one that makes the 501st cry for Chaos’ blood. 

Chaos glares but eventually nods. The others follow him, though Fives hugs the box to his chest when Chaos holds out a hand meaningfully as the doors shut. 

“They create serotonin, that’s a good thing, a healthy thing,” he whines. “You can’t throw them out, these are the good ones! With sprinkles.” 

“Chaos, Fives,” Cody interjects. 

“His name is City,” Chaos corrects. 

“Well, I’m relieved to hear rumors of your death were exaggerated, Fiv—erm, City,” Obi-Wan says, eyes darting to Chaos. “I erm, don’t suppose those are from Witma’s?” 

“They _are_ , and they’re delicious.” Fives balances the box on an arm and opens it, and Cody admits they smell wonderful. 

“I’ve seen all of your levels, you do not need this garbage in your systems,” Chaos snaps. 

“Just let me kill myself and save yourself the trouble,” Fives counters, picking one up. “I deserve this and more, I don’t know how Butterfly does it.” He shoves a donut in his mouth. 

“What does Butterfly have to do with anything?” Chaos misses the context, as always. 

Fives waves a hand meaningfully, then gestures for Obi-Wan and Cody to take a donut. 

Cody doesn’t and he clears his throat at Obi-Wan to keep the Jedi from doing so as well. No reason to tick Chaos off right away, there will … probably be some left after they’ve spoken with Chaos. Instead, he pulls his helmet off. “It’s good to see you alive, Fives.” 

“ _City_ ,” Chaos repeats. 

“Give it a rest, they know,” Fives says, pulling up a chair to sit backwards, “and look, nothing bad happened.” He pulls out another donut. 

Chaos closes his eyes and clearly counts up or down. 

“So you faked his death,” Obi-Wan says. 

“He did stab me,” Fives points out. 

“You deserved it.” 

Fives shrugs. “Fair. I’ve got a cover as a crippled trooper. Bad knee, can’t leave the planet, this one’s abused assistant. I transport info cases or medical supplies to the ships with Butterfly, just the ones on planet, and for a few Senators and other politicians, which is skeevy.” 

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asks, brow raising. 

Mouth full, Fives nods, and Cody notes his tension. “Orders from this one to play along, but sometimes I sneak a little peak. No idea, since most is under codes. Lots of back door dealings, anyway.” He gives a sloppy salute but his grin is dangerously sharp. “Lots of orders to forget I was ever there. Yes, sir, of course sir, no idea where I’ve been, sir.” 

“Interesting.” 

“Don’t believe him about anything important,” Chaos warns. “He’s an idiot.” 

Fives makes a face, but Cody is surprised Fives drops the topic. 

Cody clears this throat. “Chaos, it was discussed--” 

“No.” 

“See what I put up with,” Fives sighs. 

“You didn’t even let me finish, Chaos,” Cody says. 

“I’m not a kriffing idiot, Commander. I don’t need things spelled out. It’s not worth the security breech, it’s being handled enough.” 

“I feel I’ve been brought here under less than honest intentions,” Obi-Wan says, giving Cody a look. “This seems a bit more cloak and dagger than the academic midi-chlorians discussion I was expecting, I’m wearing the wrong boots.” 

“Those would put a strain on your overall posture,” Chaos agrees. “Your hips and lower vertebra are clearly stressed.” 

Knowing Obi-Wan was being more flippant than serious, Cody takes a moment to enjoy this General’s expression before asking, patiently, “What do I have to do to convince you to share your expertise?” The trick with Chaos is to always have counter that he can’t argue and to realize where the line is that Chaos can’t cross, and to be prepared to compromise. Chaos always needs several engagements, one can’t walk away discouraged at not succeeding the first time. 

“Good luck,” Fives snorts, eating _another_ donut. 

“You are going to make yourself sick, and I will give you nothing,” Chaos informs. 

“I’ll be sick your basket, yes you will.” 

“I’m a medic, try harder.” 

Fives shoves another donut in his mouth, cheeks puffing. 

“Chaos,” Cody says, forcing the medic’s attention, “what do you need?” 

Chaos grins. “Proof of trustworthiness.” 

“Spoken like one who’s never had a proper General,” Fives mutters. 

“Do not get me started on your General. Or yours,” he adds to Cody. 

Cody shakes his head at Obi-Wan, who is too well-trained to show or take personal offense anyway. “And what would meet that requirement?” One has to dig to the root of Chaos’ needs, sometimes five questions in. 

Chaos crosses his arm. Likely he’s never had to defend himself concisely. “Proof they didn’t know.” 

“They’ve said they didn’t.” 

“Proof.” 

“You know we can’t verify that beyond their word,” Cody says patiently. 

“Isn’t that convenient?” 

Cody does not blink. “It’s convenient for someone, you have to admit. What is something verifiable that will convince you?” 

“You can’t trust everyone,” Chaos spits. 

There’s an opening, a requirement. “That’s true.” 

“You tell one, you tell them all.” 

“Would that have to be the case, General?” Cody asks. 

“Of course not, we understand the necessity of keeping information hidden.” 

“That’s very correct, thank you for proving my point.” 

Cody keeps from frowning at this curve. He has a lot of faith in his general, but if Chaos thinks – or worse, knows – something that makes him disinclined to trust Kenobi, he’s going to have to rethink this. This was not an avenue he prepared for, as in his opinion Obi-Wan is the most trustworthy Jedi, and it seems he wrongly assumed that to be the case for the rest of his brothers. 

“Perhaps I can redeem myself?” Obi-Wan asks. 

“You could try.” Chaos considers for a moment, as if sensing an opportunity. “Actually, I would like to hear your reasoning why the Jedi Order chooses to hide the fact Knight Skywalker murdered an entire Tusken village three years ago, instead of admitting the crime. I would like to hear about Knight Tea’li supplying three planets with spice, using her ship as transport, and why this is not known to the galaxy at large. I would like to know about Master Lkos’ profiteering from the ongoing war and why this is allowed. I would enjoy several explanations why this information remains hidden from public view and why I would believe any information about clones would be any different.” 

Cody has forgotten Chaos’ ability to throw accusations out like being hit in the chest with a blaster at close range. 

“Do not tell me they are not true,” Chaos continues, very severe and serene. “I’m very good at finding things out, as a medic.” 

Obi-Wan considers his words. “I will admit, I personally am not aware of any of this information. How can I trust you?” 

“Not General Skywalker,” Fives mutters, but Cody sees out of his peripheral that his eyes are wide, face pale, and donuts forgotten. It seems Fives has been around Chaos enough to experience the breadth of his certainty. That is not a good sign, if Fives will not jump to his General’s defense. 

Chaos goes to a drawer at the side and unlocks it, then pulls out three files of flimsi. “I do have other files in relation to Jedi,” he adds, before handing the files over to Obi-Wan. “These I just find the most painfully obvious, to the point the information is being actively suppressed to the public.” 

“I think we’ll leave to review these files,” Cody suggests, “and properly research your claims.” 

“Of course,” Chaos allows. “And you’ll clearly see, the Jedi can’t be trusted.” 

He nods, replaces his helmet, and says, “Nice to meet you again, Fi—City. Let’s go, General.” 

“Yes. It’s been a pleasure,” Obi-Wan says out of habit. 

“See you, General, Commander,” Fives calls out. 

They leave the medbay, Obi-Wan looking at the unopened files in his hands. Cody notices the one on top. “So that is Medic Chaos,” he says, apologizing. This hadn’t gone the way he planned, which, he supposes, he should have expected with Chaos. 

“So it is.” Obi-Wan twists his lips. “Perhaps a bit more warning would have been nice, Cody.” 

“Sir, you have a long evening reading those, and you might not be able to _prove_ them, but you will definitely not be able to disprove them either.” He swallows and looks ahead, starting to walk away. “My apologies, General, but I’m actually very certain you will be able to prove them. Chaos wouldn’t give you his weakest evidence.” 

“It can’t be true,” Obi-Wan whispers. 

“Sir, you have a bigger problem than them being true,” Cody warns. 

“Bigger than a drug smuggler, a profiteer, a … a murderer?” 

“Chaos directly alleged the Jedi are suppressing information. You have to decide if you keep suppressing it, now that you’ll know. And you don’t know which Chaos wants.” Cody doubts Chaos knows what he wants either, beyond being proven right. 

“I’d think he’d want this exposed, giving me this information.” 

“That, or he is testing to see if you acknowledge he’s correct but can’t admit this information to the public, as it is harmful to the Jedi as a whole during the war.” Cody releases a breath through his nose. “Chaos is … complicated, but he does mean well, Sir.” 

Obi-Wan hums. “There is something he knows, that all of you know, isn’t there, but he won’t allow you to tell me, or the Jedi?” 

“That does seem to be the sum of it.” Cody considers his words. “I do not _need_ Chaos’ approval, General, as Marshal Commander.” 

“But everything would go much smoother with it, yes, I do agree with you.” He sighs. “Medics.” 

“Do remember Chaos has notified every temple healer and Bones’ team his opinion on your health, Sir,” Cody reminds, smirking under his helmet. 

“Oh dear.” 

“Yes and understand, Bones would much prefer to deal with an annoyed you than an annoyed Chaos, because Chaos _will_ follow up. Incessantly.” 

Obi-Wan frowns. “I still feel like you set me up, my dear commander.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, sir, I guarantee the medics are also having a grand laugh at your expense and I’m sure setting bets to see if you’ll be hunted down.” 

“It does not.” 

Cody does not ask Obi-Wan about the files when his general asks the next day to set up an appointment with Chaos, nor what decision he’s made. It doesn’t really matter. 

“Oh, it’s you again,” Chaos greets unenthusiastically, but at least it is without a knife thrown. 

“Thank you for the files, they were very … enlightening,” Obi-Wan states, handing over the files. 

Chaos snorts and turns on his heel to go into his office, and, after a second of him not reappearing, they follow him. 

“Your methods of gathering information are rather unique,” the jedi comments. “Roundabout, circumstantial alone, but taken together … quite a firm case. I was very impressed with the spice ring analysis and the very … concise statements on how the Jedi in question has everything neatly arranged to have the blame to fall onto the clones.” 

Cody jerks, just a little. He might have to read that file himself. 

“A useless acknowledgement,” Chaos says, arms crossed. “It is barely hidden.” 

“War does bring out the worst in many of us.” He looks away, briefly. “What made you look into Tatooine? You did not write up any reasoning for what evidence made you suspect it.” 

Chaos is unbothered, likely misses the question for what it is. “I learned about a ‘Demon Outlander’ because of the freighters telling tales.” Cody understands this really means _Butterfly_ had heard and researched it, attention caught by the fanciful name. He strongly doubts Chaos gets within a click of any shipping yard. “I thought it might be a Sith or Darksider or whatever, since the stories are new, within the start of the war and on Tatooine, which was a large coincidence given the first Sith was there too. It was very little effort to make the correct connections.” 

“ _Possibly correct,_ it is not much proof,” Obi-Wan says. 

“It is enough. You believe it.” 

“Anakin wouldn’t, you are mistaken. I will believe the other two, but that one is very much happenstance.” 

Cody clears this throat before Chaos can start into how he is right. “So your point is we cannot trust _these_ Jedi.” 

“That … is not an incorrect statement. I won’t trust these Jedi,” Chaos allows. “Or any Jedi that made it onto Butterfly’s list of undesirables.” 

“That’d be fair.” 

“It is a very long list.” 

“We can work with that,” Cody says patiently. Working with _any_ list will help immensely. “Is General Kenobi on that particular list?” 

Chaos makes a sour face, which is answer enough. 

“Well, I’m honored,” Obi-Wan states. 

“So Butterfly trusts him, _you_ clearly trust him enough to read some of your files –” 

“On Jedi,” Chaos interrupts. “On Jedi, not on clones.” 

“A little bit on clones,” Cody insists. 

“No.” 

Cody doesn’t continue to fight the issue, because it is not the angle he’s decided on for today. “Chaos, at what point do you think the Generals need to be brought in? Are we anywhere near that point?” 

“I don’t think they need to be brought in at all, sir, we’ve got everything handled.” 

“Do we? My understanding is the Guard’s percentages are rather high, and they don’t seem to be dropping compared to other battalions.” 

Chaos glares and says nothing. Cody stares back. 

“I’ve had Bones give me the numbers, Chaos, and the differences and what they could mean, based on your subtle hints in the reports. And yet Fox seems unaware the current SOP.” 

“I keep Commander Fox in the loop perfectly,” Chaos says, voice sharp. 

“I never said you didn’t.” 

“Are we not trusting Commander Fox now?” Obi-Wan asks, confused. 

“Of course we trust Commander Fox.” 

“We’re just keeping things a bit need-to-know,” Cody explains, which explains nothing. “Chaos, you honestly cannot think the Jedi are responsible for them, can you?” 

“I can.” 

“The odds aren’t that high.” 

“High enough.” 

“Can you trust _this_ Jedi has nothing to do with them?” 

“Possibly. I’m not entirely convinced, since he was the one who first came to Kamino.” 

“I don’t think that’s fair to hold against me, it was beyond my control my investigation led me to Kamino.” 

“I think it very suspect that the one Jedi who fought a Sith in a thousand years is the one who happens to find the order of clones the Jedi conveniently ordered and forgot about. You are very often strangely in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

“Yeah, you get used to that,” Cody admits. 

“Almost like you’re being set up,” Chaos continues. 

“It’s the will of the Force,” Obi-Wan offers helplessly. 

“No, there is no will of the Force,” Chaos snaps. “That’s just mystic nonsense.” 

“Chaos,” Cody warns. 

“It is. The Force is not a sentient creature, it has no will, it just is, like an ocean, and everyone is stuck in it without any control and things are assigned meanings based on someone’s moral code. What Jedi and Sith have is merely a body full of small microorganisms that symbiotically survive in a host, and are influenced based on the host itself. The will of the force can’t be the sith killing everything and the jedi stopping them, that is stupid,” Chaos argues. “A will of a being doesn’t change between two separate people. If the Force is one and all, then the Sith and the Jedi and all other Force users experience the same thing, but they don’t, ergo, it’s not kriffing will of the force, it’s the will of the host.” 

Obi-Wan sees Cody subtly shake his head, but he cannot help himself. “And yet, as the ocean can treat any sailor differently, the host has no will against the force.” 

“I have no will against a damn ocean either, you don’t see me saying there’s a damn light ocean and a dark ocean, it’s just a damn ocean and my personal beliefs and body influencing what I call a storm.” 

“And still, the ocean will take the sailor where it wants to, not the other way around.” 

“Huh, is that why we don’t have sailboats or submarines? And you are purposefully giving the ocean an intelligence, when it is merely cold currents and warm currents moving water, there is no choice, it is merely archaic belief of something too large for a primitive mind to understand, adding a sense of mysticism to a natural phenomenon.” 

“And you are purposefully denying the possibility of there being an intelligence,” Obi-Wan counters, “because you lack the –” 

A switch flicks across Chaos’ face. “I will have you leave right now. Or I will throw you out.” 

Obi-Wan blinks, startled at the abrupt stop in the discussion. 

“Get him out, now, Commander. Now.” 

“Chaos.” 

“And do not bring him back.” 

“I meant no offense, Chaos,” Obi-Wan tries to apologize. 

“And this is why they do not deserve to know _anything_ ,” Chaos spits at Cody. 

“Kriffing Hells,” Cody swears, “he doesn’t even know what set you off. _I_ don’t even know.” 

“Both of you, get out of my medbay,” Chaos repeats, fists tight. “Tell him whatever the kriff you want, I never want to see either of you in here again.” 

“Chaos, that’s not how I want this to go.” 

Chaos snarls. “Don’t even pretend I ever had a choice in this, _Marshal Commander_.” 

“Fine, I won’t, Medic Chaos. It is my order—” 

“Cody, don’t,” Obi-Wan says, grabbing his arm and shaking his head. “Don’t. Again, my apologies, Chaos, I didn’t mean to offend.” 

“I’ve learned Jedi are very good at offending, especially when they don’t mean to.” 

He tries to hold back the wince. “Yes, my apologies, again. Come on, Commander, we’ve taken up enough of the medic’s time.” 

They leave and Cody pinches the bridge of his nose, taking very deep breathes and trying to pinpoint the exact moment everything went to Hell. 

“I’m sorry, that didn’t go very well.” 

“You _had_ to engage him, didn’t you.” 

“I thought we were connecting.” 

“You were not. Chaos does not connect via arguments –” 

“It was an academic discussion.” 

“It was an academic discussion until you inferred his opinion was less because he doesn’t have the Force. I know that’s not what you meant to do or even realized you were doing, but that’s what happened. You are now definitely on Butterfly’s list of untrustworthy beings. Do not expect any more fancy tea. And you better pray I’m not on it now, either. Kriff.” 

Cody might have blanket permission from Chaos to let the Generals know about the tumors now, but he’s no fool. Chaos is the only expert they have on this thing, and Cody failed to convince him the Generals are someone they can trust with this information, because he let his damn general run his mouth off. And as paranoid as Chaos seems, the fact is he is not paranoid so often as _right_ , as seen by his numerous files and in-depth research. He’s pointed out ~~three~~ two Generals who are not trustworthy, from a drawer of how many. He’s clearly got theories on the tumors and what they mean for the GAR, given he’s finally approved blanket removal after five years of not. Chaos isn’t going to change even if he orders him to work with the Jedi, because unless he believes it’s the right thing to do, he’ll just dig his heels in deeper and deeper and die from pure spite. 

He'll give him time to cool off and go back, try to clear this up. He honestly does not need an enemy of Chaos. Or Butterfly. 

“Figure out how you’re going to fix my mistakes, yet?” Obi-Wan asks, forcing lightness. While he doesn’t know all the details, he understands that Chaos needed to be won over, and he messed that up spectacularly through a misused word. A poor showing for the famed Negotiator. 

“We’ll see.” 

“I do apologize, but I wonder …,” he trails off, looking into the distance. “I was not the first Jedi who offended him.” 

Cody considers making a comment that Chaos takes offense at everything, but he doesn’t. This isn’t the time, and this is not Chaos merely being difficult for the sake of it, not entirely. There is a history Cody is unaware – though he can imagine, as he is a clone too – and his vod does not deserve ridicule for merely reacting as any other being might. So he simply nods. “I suspect so. Chaos has always been … sensitive about his expertise, and anti-clone sentiment is high on Coruscant. I’m sure he feels it more as a medic, compared to a simple trooper.” 

“Butterfly mentioned he tried speaking with the Jedi Healers, didn’t he?” Despite himself, Obi-Wan wonders how the healers took Chaos recommendation for his health catch-up plan, and he almost considers visiting the Healing Halls to find out. He does not like thinking of the implications about how far they may have fallen. 

“Guilt solves nothing, General. Just do better, that’s all anyone can do.” 

“What are you doing here?” Cody demands as Fives removes his helmet. “Are you trying to blow your cover?” 

“Please, with this disguise, I’m invisible,” Fives smirks, placing both helmet and case on Cody’s desk. “No one, and I mean _no one_ , wants to talk to the Capitol Guard who got himself so crippled he can’t even fight. I’m a leper.” 

“What’s this?” 

Fives’ smile drops. “No offense, Commander, but if you’re going to order something that is going to piss Chaos off, I’d appreciate a little warning so I know when I’m walking innocently into the blast zone.” He knocks on the case. “I’m delivering fifty-two crates, one to each Commander whose planet-side, with every single note Chaos has about this kriffcluster of a chip and the situation on Coruscant.” 

Cody is about to explain he hasn’t ordered anything before his eyes narrow. “ _What_ situation?” 

“The bomb seconds from going off? Chaos didn’t mention it? That thing threatening the Republic and the Jedi?” 

“ _What_ is the situation?” Cody repeats. “Why does it threaten the Jedi?” 

Fives stares at him. “Lock the door and turn on the jammers, this might take a while.” He sits as Cody does so, tapping his fingers. “Chaos really didn’t say anything? He’s really just going to dump these cases on all you, blind?” 

“This actually does sound like Chaos, I am not surprised.” Chaos does not understand why some information should be given in person and not just as an information packet. This is _efficient_ for Chaos, which is not the same as efficient for Commanders who do _not_ have time to read an entire case of Chaos’ meticulous notes (or the ability to understand them, not that _any_ Commander is going to admit that). 

“Yeah, it does avoid human contact. Anyway, where to start? You know Coruscant’s got the highest Chaosed vode?” 

“Everyone knows that.” 

“Not Fox.” 

“Fox is Chaosed.” 

“That’s the problem, sir.” Fives steels himself. “Let’s start with just the bad, which we’ve sort of managed to get under control. There’s Senators abusing Chaosed clones. Chaos has known it for who knows how long, he just hasn’t had much ability to stop it before I started delivering and could actually tell him what was happening.” 

Cody forces his temper down. 

“The Capital Guard, well, we’re really just around to run paperwork between Senators, apparently, like how Butterfly runs medics stuff. Not always bad stuff, just really menial, sometimes even getting one a caff, glorified droids, that’s how a lot of us are seen. But then there’s some, and they always add in, Order 93 about this.” 

“Order 93,” Cody repeats. He knows what order that is, but he does not like this implication. 

“Order 93, order basically to forget what just happened,” Fives spits. “Most of the time, it’s forgetting they just delivered something to someone, but I’ve had a few who had a certain idea how those meetings were supposed to end. Chaos – well, let’s just say he knows which brothers always had injuries they couldn’t remember getting and had me take those rounds, and I’ve had to correct a few of those impressions. I would have killed them, Sir, if I could have gotten away with it. I still might, when this is over. Just because they don’t remember doesn’t mean they don’t know.” 

Cody is horrified. Forced to _forget_ , as in to actually forget. Forgetting the obvious abuse and treatment of his men, this is a potentially huge security breech. 

“Chaos thinks there were a couple Order 86s over the years, too. Can’t prove that one, just circumstantial, but you know how he is with circumstantial evidence.” 

Order 86, to sacrifice one’s self for good of the mission. 

“He can’t figure out, exactly, who those brothers were meeting, or what they were assigned, but Commander, those deaths … if they weren’t Chaosed, they would have been written off by any medic investigating as accidents. Chaos didn’t because, well, you know,” he says, waving at his head. “Apparently there some odd chemical thing that flares up if the chips are active at death. Got his attention.” 

“And he never told Fox.” Cody does not speak it in judgment, because he can see where this is going. 

“He mentioned the unknown injuries, but the other stuff …. Chaosed vode on Coruscant get checked quarterly. Apparently he had proof that Fox was getting Ordered after the first year. Not that he knew about the Orders then, but I guess there is a protocol if there’s some sign of the chips changing a vod’s brain. There’s always a protocol with Chaos.” 

All the Commanders and medics signed off on it. (Cody can admit not all Commanders or medics might have read all of it, but they all signed off.) Cody, who read that damned thing, even he he’ll never admit he had a medical dictionary next to him the whole time, knows a medic is allowed to inform a commander officer about the tumors altering any soldier’s brain negatively. Chaos has always been upfront about the differences between units in his reports, worrying about a few microns, but still always stating there is no noticeable difference in any vod’s ability. 

But the protocol does state a medic does not _have_ to release information that could compromise further secrecy. Finding out a vod’s been murdered and it might tangentially be related to the tumors … Cody can see Chaos burying it. 

“What is the worse?” 

“Eh, how about just badder first.” Fives nods at his expression. “I told you, this is a bomb, sir. I do the runs now, mostly. Can’t do them all, but I can get about 85%. That’s most of the Chaosed runs. You get to know the Senators that use us as runners, and well, when they think they can 93 you, they get pretty sloppy. Clear as I can figure, there’s five fractions in the Senate.” 

“And this is badder?” 

“Let me get to it. First there’s the nobodies, the ones who just are trying to stay above water, the little systems. Then there’s Senator Amidala’s Delegation of 2,000, I don’t know how they got such a round number – oh kriff, that’s a Chaos issue, what’s wrong with me. Anyway, they’re trying to curb the Chancellor’s powers. Then we got the Chancellor loyalists. Then we got the career ones, who’ll go any way that’ll give them more power. And then we got the ones that support the Separatists. And some of these senators are in several of those groups, sir.” 

“How do you mean support the Separatists?” Cody demands. 

“I mean, sir, they should be shot.” Fives is disgusted. “They feed information to the Seps, for credits and favors, they made us lose countless battles, killed thousands of us, because they got a discount on minerals or whatever. They’re sprinkled in all the other groups, spying and crippling the Republic from the inside.” 

“How do you know this?” 

“Order 93, Commander. I don’t remember a thing. And I certainly didn’t take any copies of those files in those cases, even if they were encrypted.” Fives pauses. “You know, Chaos is _really good_ at decoding those. He shouldn’t have ever been assigned as a medic. And I mean this even beyond him being absolutely miserable as a medic and making everyone else just as miserable as well.” 

This isn’t the first time this has been pointed out, but Chaos had already been assigned by the Kaminoans and medics are always in high demand. Good medics – and as awful as Chaos is, he is a good medic medically – do not get reassigned. “His pattern recognition is what got him assigned as a medic in the first place,” Cody says. Pattern recognition, according to the Kaminoans, somehow is a good trait for a medic. 

“That sucks for everyone. Anyway, that’s the badder news.” 

“The fact you make there being Separatist spies in the Senate not the worst news,” Cody says, grim. 

“I know, tell me about it. I actually agree with Chaos’ ranking, but the fact is, of the spies in the Senate, the majority are in it for the money. No war, no money. They’re just prolonging it. Ready for the worse?” 

“Don’t have a choice.” 

“Well, worse. There’s a Sith in on Coruscant.” 

“Why is that _not_ the worst?” Cody sighs. 

“Believe me, it _gets worse_.” 

“How did Chaos get to this?” 

“Did you know, apparently the Force is related to these things called midi-chlorians?” 

Cody groans and rubs his eyes. This is not going to be good. “I am aware.” 

“Commander?” 

He waves his hand. “Just … go on.” 

“Okay. Well, I guess they are everywhere, in everything, like those microscopic spiders than eat your eyelashes, but, like, _everywhere_. It’s really disgusting, when you think about it.” Fives shudders. “Anyway, medics can measure these things, it’s just a blood sample. Now, it gets really complicated here, I don’t quite get it, but you know the Jedi says the Force flows around, but we can’t sense it because we don’t have enough midi-chlorians, but some _rocks –_ yes, _rocks_ – do, how is that for insulting. Chaos has something set up like magnets, and you know, those just point north. Usually these just point at the Temple, sort of forwards the highest Force concentration, but sometimes the polarity-thing just kriffing flips all over for no reason. Just for a second. Then bam, right back at the Temple.” 

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Cody argues. 

“Yeah, it _doesn’t_ prove anything except that something uses so much Force somewhere not the Temple.” 

“But?” 

“But Chaos’ Force magnets acted weird.” 

“That’s a large jump to a kriffing Sith being on the planet, Fives.” 

“What has enough Force power to overpower the temple, Sir?” 

“The Jedi would know if there was a Sith on Coruscant. They can sense each other.” 

“Except when they shield. Or are surrounded by beskar. Or suppressed.” Fives raises his hands. “I’m not being difficult. You’re saying everything I said, sir. I didn’t believe it, either.” 

“Then just tell me the point that convinced you, because I am not convinced.” 

“The stones, sir, they turn red.” 

“What?” 

“Not … not super red. But they color shift. Just a little. Can’t even really see it, not without putting it through a spectrometer, it takes like I don’t know, weeks of wild spins before it’s measurable. And the little midi-chlorians in the stones, some of them are … different. Not a lot, takes the computer days to finish an analysis, it’s like zero-point-a thousand more zeroes-one difference. Chaos won’t say hurt, he says altered, but I think they look hurt. And you know how Sith make their lightsabers red.” 

Cody knows what the Jedi call it. “Chaos is using kyber crystals?” 

Fives shrugs. “They’re rocks, sir. I don’t think you’d put these in a lightsaber, but I’m not a Jedi. Maybe? But the point it, you gotta use the dark side to make a lightsaber turn red. And wherever whomever is doing this, they’re turning Chaos’ rocks red. A little bit. And that’s Sithy, sir, in my opinion.” 

The Commander does not feel it is definitive evidence, personally. There are too many other variables. “I won’t argue the point,” he settles. He can say that to Fives and it will be dropped. 

“Well, to worser --” 

“Kriffing hells, Fives.” 

“I get you, we’re almost to the worst.” 

“Wonderful.” 

“Stop interrupting. Worser. The Jedi, they’re targets, this whole war, it’s to get rid of them, using us. Order 66. There’s a reason _that_ order went off in Tup. Chaos has it written up in the official medicalese, but he says that pathway, that one, it’s one of a dozen most likely to be triggered, some path of least resistance bullshit. We know which one is Order 66, because we got Tup’s chip, we know where it was degraded thanks to Azi’s scan. We _know_ this, Commander. And that brings us to the worst point.” 

“Don’t drag this out, Fives.” 

Fives’ grin is predatory. “Who is the only one who can order Order 66, Commander?” 

Cody draws a deep breath through his teeth. “No.” 

“The Chancellor.” Fives raises his hand. “Not saying Palpatine is the issue, even though it doesn’t look good for him, does it, sir. But the fact is, Order 65 is pretty clear, too, and a few others that clear a path to the Chancellorship. And like I pointed out in the badder portion of my presentation, there are senators who support the Separatists. Some of those senators could, through a convoluted system of deaths or removals of power or simply be voted in, well, they could be our next Chancellor. 

“And they all know us clones obey those Orders, without question. And Coruscant Guards are the most Chaosed in the GAR, and we’re all on Coruscant, next to the Chancellor, surrounding the Jedi temple, next to any number of Senators, and with a kriffing Sith. 

“And if the wrong one of the Guard gets Chaos-Free, they will know we know. 

“And that, Commander, is the bomb we are all sitting on.” 

“Kriffing Chaos. How long has he been sitting on this?” Cody asks, wishing for a drink. “We should have been told all of this immediately.” 

“Commander, I get where you’re coming from, I really do. Chaos should have been pulling Commanders in when we had proof out about the Senators, but that’s hasn’t even been a year, sir, since I joined him. That’s the first time he’s gotten proof any of you would have believed.” 

“And why didn’t he then?” 

Fives rubs his face. “I think it's mostly because the Guard is so Chaosed, we’re surrounded by brothers who can turn on us in an instant and we wouldn’t know. And that, sir, is a horrible feeling hanging, knowing you can’t trust your brothers. It’s not a good excuse, I know, and it didn’t sit with me, letting Seppie Senators profit over our brothers’ deaths, but telling anyone about them too soon would have just gotten us killed. 

“And I know I made it sound like we’ve known about this for a long time, but really, it’s only come together the past few months. The chips, he might have always known about them, but it’s taken him a lot to connect Tup’s death to Order 66, and that’s only, again, because of me, sir. I’m Chaos-Free, and the only other support he has on Coruscant is Butterfly, who is Chaosed, and we don’t know if Butterfly has ever been Ordered. And sir, we only know 150 Orders, but there are a lot more pathways. There are probably Orders we don’t know about. 

“And the Sith thing, you don’t even believe, and he’s knows what the whole GAR thinks of him, sir, just imagine if he went to you with that one. Chaos is really just doing his best sir, and quite frankly, he never gets a lot of support for it.” 

“I understand,” Cody admits, even if he still is upset at being left in the dark for so long. “This is just … a lot.” 

“Tell me about it. It’s a kriffing caseful, a heavy case. Fifty-two times.” He taps the case with his knuckles. “Until the next set of battalions come planet-side.” 

Cody groans and covers his eyes. “Kriff. How are we going to discuss this in secret?” He peeks through his fingers. “Why doesn’t he want the Generals to know?” 

“Well, aside from not liking a lot of them because Butterfly doesn’t, and because some of them shouldn’t be trusted, Chaos … thinks they’re idiots.” 

Cody snorts. “Elaborate.” 

“Well … you serve under General Kenobi and you’ve read the reports of General Skywalker and all the others.” 

“Yes?” 

“Now pretend you’re Chaos.” 

“Ah.” 

“Exactly, sir. And imaging them saying ‘the Force told me to,’” Fives says, twitching his fingers, “to him as an excuse for the bantha-shit stuff they pull.” 

“I can imagine. Painfully.” 

“Just imagine him with General Yoda, and then if the General goes to hit him with that cane of his.” Fives snickers at the mental image. “General or not, Chaos would kriffing kick him like a nerfball.” 

“They can never meet,” Cody agrees, because he swears General Yoda enjoys messing with people. Chaos would never take that well. 

“Plus, he’s a medic, and he really has a dim view of people who avoid medical. Which apparently is most of the Generals, not just ours. The medics gossip, and Chaos is always signed in to the comm line, since he’s in contact with them already and can get Butterfly to send them extra supplies ahead of requisitions. You would not _believe_ the things I now know. Medics know _everything_.” 

“You didn’t already know that?” 

“I knew it, but they know so much more. Kix held out on us.” 

Cody smirks, then turns back to one issue. “What about you? You think the Generals need to know?” 

“About the Sith, that seems like something they’d need to know, but you know they’re not going to believe just because of how Chaos figured it out. You don’t even believe, Commander. Everything else? Can’t hurt about the Seppie Senators, but I hate myself for saying this, only the Jedi that Chaos would allow. Not only to save us the headache of him throwing a tantrum, but just because ….” Fives trails off, a lost look on his face, but then he rallies. “We can’t even trust our brothers because of this, and that _hurts,_ sir. And each and every one of us, we’d all say we’d never hurt another brother, but the fact is, some of us would, and we wouldn’t know it until after the fact. We have a list of brothers we can’t trust. That might be the same with the Jedi. No matter who's on it.” 

Fives manages a rueful smile. “Though, to be fair, most are probably on it because they pissed Chaos off one time.” 

“Probably every time one of their medics complained about them dodging medical,” Cody agrees and kindly does not bring up how the others made the list. 

Fives’ grin is feral. “You know the best thing about working under Chaos? And really, there isn’t a lot, but this _almost_ makes up for that.“ 

“The gossip?” 

“Oh, that, and Chaos has no problem calling up _any_ superior officer and absolutely--” 

“I’m aware, Fives.” Thank the Force Chaos has the smallest bit of sense he never does it to the Jedi or a natborn officer. 

“It’s _glorious_. I tried recording it, once, but he caught me and then screamed at me about breech of privacy, but it was still worth it.” 

“The Jedi, Fives,” Cody reminds, relieved Chaos does not often call him, especially since Fives’ “death”. 

“Oh, yeah. Just the list,” he says, sobering. “And those ones could know about the Orders and chips, because without knowing that, the rest doesn’t make sense.” 

It would be an olive branch to Chaos, who he is going to have to meet before he is ordered off planet, because despite Chaos’ belief, sending out _cases_ to every Commander is not going to work. “Tell Chaos I’m visiting him this evening, and tell him I’m _ordering you_ to stop delivering those cases.” 

“Your funeral, sir. Not that I don’t appreciate it.” 

“You’re still visiting every single commander on planet, Fives.” 

“And telling them what? All this again?” 

“No, that I’m calling a meeting. And bringing Chaos.” He taps out details and hands over a padd. “Can you get this set up?” 

Fives looks it over. “Fox will notice that he’s not there, with all these commanders meeting.” 

“I’ll comm Fox and let him know I’m involving Chaos in a meeting about some medical complaints. I’m giving Fox an excuse to not need to be there, because he’s bound to have heard all of them already.” 

“Nice one, sir. No way anyone will walk into that if they have an excuse not to.” Fives stands up. “I’ll get it set up, sir.” He pauses, deep in thought. “You know what’s absolutely the worst, the worstest about these chips?” 

“What, Fives?” 

“If we never found out about them. We’re an army all over the Republic one Order away from taking it over. We’re good soldiers, Commander, one of those Separatists get to be Chancellor, or the Chancellor just being, I don’t know, a Sith, and they give the Order, and we’re their kriffing brute squad. 

“Chaos says that’s why we were ordered,” Fives says, putting on his helmet to hide his face. “No reason, he says, to be ordered ten years before a war unless there was going to be one, and only someone who needs a war would know there’s going to be one. And no reason we needed a chip in our heads that does what it does unless we were needed to do what those orders say. And a lot of those orders, sir, they’re specific to handling the Republic, because we would already be fighting against the other side of the war. We were ordered so we could help destroy the Republic, not save it.” 

“Well, I guess we’re going against orders, then,” Cody says, face hard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As to Chaos' theory on the Force, I'm completely fine accepting he's 100% wrong. But he feels he's right and should have a chance to say so. He is capable of rational debate, but he's dealt with so many micro-aggressions that as soon as anyone even touchs that he's a clone or not Force-sensitive, he's going to drop that conversation like a bomb. 
> 
> Chaos learning about Anakin's little Tusken massacre may seem farfetched, but the fact is a lot of his information is circumstancial. It just happens to line up *really well* with his hypothesis that they can't trust Jedi - 1) Interesting Name of Killer of whole Village, 2) on Tattoine, 3) where a Sith has been, 4) Anakin went to Tatooine, 5) at a similiar time, 6) near the site of the crime (like how Canada and the US are near), 7) implied death not by blaster but by other dangerous weapon, 8) by very dangerous bad guy, 9) that takes no credit/didn't do it to make a name, 10) none of this is repeated across Tatooine or other planets
> 
> To the Spice Ring, Chaos is very familiar reading bloodwork of clones exposed to spice and Butterfly is a gossip
> 
> To the profiteering, Butterfly is very familiar with smuggling.
> 
> Most of Chaos' theories stem from odd health reports for lone clones, battalions whose health results are unusally off compared to the rest of the GAR, demanding answers from medics on said ships, and Butterfly casually mentioning things he sees on the other ships that sound odd to Chaos. 
> 
> I think it's important to make some Jedi also not good guys, because this is a war.
> 
> Chaos comparatively has a fair bit of free time compared to other medics, despite him being the only one stationed on Coruscant. The Guard generally isn't injured compared to the other stations as frequently, most of the injured *prefer* droids to examine them, and it's very much If-You're-Too-Injured-You're-Replaced-Instead-Of-Healed on Coruscant. The Guard has to have a Certain Look to give the Universe an Impression. All the vode know that. Those he treats personally tend to be ones he has to hunt out. 
> 
> As such, he has a lot of time to focus on the chips/tumors or examine why/how his patients are injured without their knowledge. With Butterfly's social knowledge and now Fives' social awareness, he gets to learn about a lot of gossip about the Senate and GAR. And of course, now he has to handle Private Eye Fives (who is not very good at it, despite what Fives' thinks) in his Sentatorial Investigations. Fives is good at sniffing things out, but it's really not his forte putting things together past the immediate connection.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mace gets a headache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> implied drug use following trauma, as well as implied suicide attempt

“So how can I help you gentlemen?” Mace asks as they settle in his office. He’s doing a favor for Commander Cody, meeting these two, the third of their party having scampered off to the creche. At the time, he’d wondered why Commander Cody hadn’t set the meeting with Obi-Wan, but given they had just shipped out, he assumes he is the easiest alternative on Coruscant. That said, as soon as the commander requested the meeting, Mace has been fighting a headache, which is never a good sign. 

“Cody said I should give this to you first, as a show of faith, before we discuss anything,” the medic glares, setting down a data chip and crossing his arms. 

Mace stares down at the data chip and then back at the scowling clone. 

The helmeted trooper brings a hand to his helmet. 

“And what is this?” 

“Information of seventy-nine Jedi who should be removed from leadership positions, and possibly face imprisonment or other penalties for various crimes, not limited to spice trafficking, war profiteering, arms smuggling, murder of non-enemy in non-combat situations, abuse of command, abuse of personnel, fraudulent reporting, fraudulent –” He stops when the trooper next to him kicks him, and he viciously kicks him back in the gap between the armor. “Do _not_ kick me!” 

“Son of a – kriff, Chaos, you’re actually going to damage my knee! Sorry, General, he can’t help himself,” the trooper apologizes, rubbing his injury. 

“I didn’t kick you that hard, your ligaments will be fine.” 

“And where did you get this information?” Mace asks, because if this is true, this is a major issue he had not been prepared for when Commander Cody politely requested Mace meet two clones, and he wagers the commander _knew_ what this meeting was going to be about, the bastard. It seems there was an ulterior reason Commander Cody apologized for not being able to be there in person as well. 

“I’m a medic.” 

“He knows everything,” the trooper sighs. “Look, we’re just asking you to look at it, and at the end of the war, you deal with it. We get the PR nightmare we’re giving the Jedi if they bring it out now.” 

“That’s _stupid_ ,” Chaos counters. “All of this is _obvious_ , hiding it just allows someone _else_ to bring it forward first. How is that a _better_ handling?” 

“Chaos, no offense, but you are the last one to educate _anyone_ on PR handling.” 

The medic frowns. “I know that, I’m a medic, not a communications officer.” 

“That’s not – never mind. Look, General, that isn’t why we’re here.” 

“I said that.” 

“Then why are you here?” Mace demands, headache growing. 

“We’re here to get you up-to-speed on the Chaos Plot.” 

“That is _not_ what it is called, stop being melodramatic.” 

“ _What_ is it?” 

“It’s the separatist plot in which every clone was to have a chip inserted in their brain and could take control of them at a single command, and would be forced to kill all the Jedi,” the trooper explains in a rush. 

Mace forces patience. “The Kaminoans explained those chips—” 

“That’s banthashit, sir, and we can prove it.” 

“No, we can’t.” 

“Chaos!” 

“We can’t prove it was a Separatist plot,” the medic defends, glaring at the soldier. “The only evidence we have is that when the chips are activated, a vod is forced to obey, up to and including killing himself. We can’t _prove_ it’s a Separatist plot, just highly rank the odds in favor.” 

“Wait a minute, back up,” Mace orders. “What’s this forced to obey?” They were told the chips limit aggression. 

“That’s what we’re trying to explain.” 

“You’re doing very badly,” Chaos says and meets Mace’s gaze. “The chips are behavioral modificators that were designed to be connected to the frontal cortex of each vod. Once activated by hearing one of a series of assigned Orders, a neural pathway would be activated in each vod’s brain that would limit critical thinking, memory, and incoming information, and would essentially compel –” 

“Force,” the trooper corrects. 

“—the vod to obey, very strongly contrary to prior beliefs or behavior. It has been determined through very thorough and careful analysis that these Orders do include killing the Jedi, but they also likely include killing the Chancellor, killing the Senate as a whole, targeting civilian sites, sacrificing one’s self, firing upon another battalion, removing memory of any actions, and other various orders that would negatively affect the Republic if said Orders were stated to vode who have the chip. 

“Given that 98.78% of the GAR is clone-based, activating any one of these Orders would have had a profound effect on the war effort, leaning towards Separatist benefit based on the majority of said known Orders. 

“It has also postulated, by vode who have more experience working with Jedi than myself, that because each vode would not know they were a danger to themselves, each other, civilians, or the Jedi, the quote-Force-unquote would not provide adequate warning to Jedi who are unused to using other standard senses of warning, that is, paying attention to what is happening in front of their faces instead of rel—” 

“Okay,” the trooper interrupts loudly, “that’s enough, and it _somehow_ gets even more terrifying each time you explain it. Chaos, you have a gift that should never be opened.” 

Chaos ignores him, instead staring at Mace with a sharp, intense look. “You are in pain. You have a headache, a migraine. I can give you something.” He’s reaching for his pack as he speaks. 

Medication never helps with shatter points. “No, that’s not—” 

“Chaos, no—” 

“ _Son of a motherkriffing—”_

“There, it should go away shortly,” Chaos states. 

Mace grits his teeth. “ _That_ was the most painful shot I have ever received.” 

“You’re welcome. Here, you may have a treat for taking it so well.” 

He glares at the medic, who sets down a wrapped candy next to the data chip. The medic stares back, utterly unruffled, and the trooper is glancing fearfully between them. “A healer waits for permission before giving treatment,” he informs, as a warning. 

“That must be why 43% of the active Jedi are behind on examinations and various health inspections, and hence result in a 12% increase in fatigue and mild illness, as well at 27% increase in battle injuries, and an 84% increase in waste of expenses and supplies when they finally are examined,” the medic replies back, as if they are discussing weather. 

“Please, General, don’t, he can and will do this all day,” the trooper pleads. 

“You yourself are behind your twice a year health examination by sixty-two days, which may be influencing your increased headaches, blood pressure, insomnia, and mind anemia. Also, you are clearly not taking in enough vitamins, I will be making my recommendations to your healers, and I may be recommending it as a standard for all Jedi.” 

“Chaos, please stop.” 

Chaos keeps meeting Mace’s gaze. “The headaches are from shatterpoints breaking, not my overall health,” Mace informs coolly. 

“Your headache is better. Your signs of pain are much less prominent.” He looks at his companion, dismissing Mace. “The Jedi have been informed. I do not see how their knowing it has improved anything. This has wasted my time.” 

The trooper groans and drags his hands down his helmet. “Can I sit, General. Please let me sit, I’ve been crippled.” He does not wait for Mace to give permission. 

“I did not cripple you.” 

The trooper pulls off his helmet and looks at Mace. “You recognize me? I won’t take it personal, I’m that good in this disguise.” 

There is something familiar but Mace does not know every clone. “I’m sorry, but no.” 

“I’m Fives. You know, the one and only that investigated the chips when Tup died and then was cruelly _murdered_ by Chaos here.” 

“I didn’t murder you, I stabbed you.” 

“Fives.” Mace takes a deep breath and smiles. “I’m glad you’re alive. And this, this is what you learned about with the chips?” 

“Ah … no. Most of that is from Chaos. He’s been researching them since before we left Kamino, since before the war started.” 

Mace forces himself to be still. “And you’re just telling us now, everything you’ve learned.” 

“Well, we shouldn’t have to tell the people who ordered us there’s chips in our brains, should we,” Chaos says, ruthless. 

“Look, we know –” 

“Actually, we don’t.” 

“We’re going out on a limb, then, deciding the Jedi _are not the bad guys_ ,” Fives says, looking at Chaos, before giving Mace a pleading look. 

Mace leans back. “You didn’t trust us, because you think we ordered the Kaminoans to put the chips in you, and that’s why you never told us,” he summarizes. 

“Exactly. But we still have a right to know what they do to us.” 

“It’s a medical right,” Chaos affirms. 

“So Chaos here, he’s been researching it for years. It’s just been recent that all the pieces are coming into place and making a not nice picture,” Fives continues. “We’ve known about the chips for years, but all that other stuff, the Orders and the mind control –” 

“It’s not mind control.” 

“It’s mind control. Anyway, we figured that stuff out recently, and as it can have _huuuge_ implications on the war, we thought the Generals should be brought up to speed.” 

“They voted on it,” Chaos says, frowning. 

Mace feels his headache trying to come back. “We’ve got to get those removed. They should never have been put in in the first place.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, sir. Most the GAR has been Chaos Free for years, it’s really only a few stragglers here and there the medics still have to pull. Eh, and most of the Coruscant Force.” 

“It’s 67.4% now,” Chaos informs. 

“Wow, you brought it down. How – wait, we got new recruits, didn’t we?” 

Chaos glares at him and doesn’t respond immediately, but his shoulders tighten and he looks at Mace. “It’s … concerning, because they aren’t replacements. The Capitol Guard usually maintains a steady ratio of vod-to-civilians, being 1:500. It’s … been shifting towards a lower ratio.” 

“You’ve never mentioned that,” Fives says, surprised. 

“It’s not something I usually analyze, but I’ve more issues with bed bites and lice. Closer quarters. And then, of course, there’s always the standard sexually transmitted diseases after the new arrivals show up, until they learn better. More squads to hunt out for medical exams.” 

“Kriff,” Fives mutters. “Well, General, the point is, um, the rest of the GAR is handled, it’s just Coruscant. And before you say, out with the chips, you gotta know, someone is already using those Orders on vode. There’s no way we can clear them and keep it secret. And that’s … basically what the Commander says to tell you.” 

“You want to tell me more, don’t you.” 

Fives gives him a sheepish look before looking up at a scowling Chaos. “He’s a good General, Chaos. Really. Ponds had nothing but nice things to say.” 

“This is a lie.” 

“What?” Mace says, a quick hurt in the chest. 

“No, nice things, really! Calling someone bad names is the nicest thing anyone can say about a person.” 

“That makes no sense.” 

Mace smiles, the hurt leaving as he understands what Fives is explaining. “I understand. Thank you for letting me know. He was a good man.” He looks at the data chip still on his desk and opens the piece of candy. “How about this? I bring this information to the Council.” 

“No.” 

“What?” 

“Eh, did Cody, perhaps, maybe, give you a list of Jedi?” Fives asks. 

“Yes?” 

“Did you _read_ that list?” 

“It was a list of names,” Mace deadpans. 

Fives scratches his neck awkwardly. “Well … you can’t tell anyone on that list anything we say.” 

There is a beat. “What?” 

“I can recommend a hearing test.” 

“My hearing is _fine_. What do you mean I can’t tell anyone on that list? That’s over half the Council!” 

“And you’re not on it! Good job!” Fives gives him thumbs up. 

“Master Yoda’s on it.” 

Fives nods. “Yeah. I wondered how he failed the Butterfly test, I’ve seen him, he eats and drinks anything, and there’s no way he didn’t say thank you.” 

“You are such an idiot,” Chaos says. 

Mace continues reading down. “And Master Kenobi.” 

“He’s an idiot,” Chaos says, frowning sharply. 

“And Master—okay, that one doesn’t surprise me. Why are their names on this list? These Jedi are trustworthy people, I would stake my life on it.” 

“But you’re not staking your life on it, are you. You’re staking vode lives, ergo, _we_ decide who we trust,” Chaos says. 

“He’s staking his life a little,” Fives tries. 

Chaos stares at Mace. “Check that chip, check that list, and then tell me you trust everyone on that list with your life.” 

“No, Fives, he’s right,” Mace agrees when Fives moves to argue again. “Can I bring _this_ information to the Council?” He holds up the chip. 

“Those are internal Jedi matters, they should be brought to your governing body’s attention,” Chaos says, confused. 

“Ah. Yes, of course. And the rest?” 

“You bring on whomever is not at that list. That’s what the Commanders agreed.” 

“And what do you think?” 

Fives closes his eyes, pained, but Chaos sees nothing wrong with the question. “The Vode are taking care of our own. The only reason the Jedi could possibly warrant being informed is because they are one of any potential victims of a vod who still has the chip, which is, unfortunately, the majority of those on Coruscant, but the same reason should apply to the Senators and Chancellor, and it has never been addressed that they should be informed of the dangers as well.” 

“You think it a double-standard.” 

“I think we have proof Senators are abusing vode by using the Orders. It is easy to extrapolate that, for safety, we cannot trust any Senator. Based on the number of Orders that are specific to only being given by the Chancellor, we can extrapolate we should not trust the Chancellor or any who have a direct line of succession. But while we do not have proof of any Jedi using Orders, nor Orders that only activate if a Jedi gives them, it is not the same as saying we can trust them as a whole.” 

“Hence the list.” 

Chaos nods and Mace nods back. He understands the logic and can approve of it, even if he doesn’t like it. “I agree. I don’t necessarily agree with the list, but I and any Jedi will respect your right to choose who you trust.” 

“Huh. Well, good, that’s good,” Fives approves. 

“One question,” Mace adds, checking the list of names. “It appears every Healer is on this list.” 

“This there a question?” Chaos prompts after a long pause. 

Mace looks up at the medic and then back down. “Is there anyone you could recommend? A list, perhaps, of Jedi _not_ on the list?” 

“It’d probably be shorter,” Fives mutters. 

Chaos thinks for a moment. “Madam Nu. She is helpful when I need to use the archive and, even if she may think it, never tries to redirect me to other topics she may consider more appropriate for me to study.” 

There is a hard line on the clone’s face and Mace is reminded of anti-clone sentiment that runs rampant. He wonders how many on the list failed such a simple thing, even unknowingly. “Anyone else?” 

“Initiates –” 

“Preferably adults.” 

“Then I’m sorry, but I don’t meet many other Jedi who aren’t already listed,” Chaos says. 

Fives looks up from tapping his fingers on his helmet, the wish to be anywhere else during this painful conversation clear. “So … I’m not really sure how we want to proceed.” 

“As I’ve said, telling the Jedi does not offer any solutions, and I do not know why all of you were so insistent it be done.” 

Mace asks, “Give us time to think about a solution. And we’re allies, and we can offer you our support when the time comes.” 

“I fail to see how you will be much support when the Order comes that we are to kill Jedi, and we are forced to protect you when are foolishly thinking you'll be helping us.” 

“Well, when we tell you Order 66 got activated, you’ll at least know to seal the temple,” Fives says with forced brightness, “instead of us having to explain everything right then and there. That's supportive, Chaos.” 

“Order 66?” 

Fives sucks his teeth. “Yeah, we’re probably going to have to get you up to speed on those 150 Orders.” 

“Indeed.” 

“Is your headache coming back?” 

“No.” He works hard to release his pain into the Force. 

Chaos narrows his eyes. “I think you are lying to me.” 

“I’m not. This is just more than I was expecting from Commander Cody’s request. I need caff.” 

“I’ll go get some,” Fives says, putting his helmet back on. He does not want to see what the General is going to do when Chaos hypos him again, though he _does_ want to record it and possibly place bets throughout the GAR at the outcome. 

Fives almost makes it to the door before there is a quiet chirp, and he turns, confused. “I thought the rule was the communicators were turned off?” he asks as Chaos pulls one off his belt. 

His fingers press several buttons, absorbed in the message. “Medics are exempt from that requirement, in case of medical emergencies. This is a medical emergency.” 

“Is everything all right?” Mace asks. “Do you need help getting somewhere?” 

The medic looks up, puzzled. “No, why would I?” Even still, he remains typing on his communicator. 

“Chaos, we didn’t come in a speeder and you just said it was a medical emergency! What happened?!” Fives demands. 

“Don’t worry, it’s self-inflicted.” 

“What?!” 

“Medical confidentiality,” Chaos says instead of offering any useful explanation. “It is not necessary for you to know the details. But I have to leave, before they make it worse.” 

Mace stands up and offers the use of one of the speeders. 

Chaos snorts. “I’d hardly take a _Jedi-emblazoned_ speeder here, it’d be stripped for parts in minutes. And I’d rather not have attention drawn either.” 

“We do have ones for undercover work, it would blend right in,” Mace reassures. 

“What’s the emergency that’s not really an emergency?” Fives asks. 

“It is an emergency,” Chaos snaps, gaze harsh on Fives. “You are not entitled to know about another’s medical concerns unless they agree.” 

“Jeez, sorry I asked,” Fives grumbles. 

“I have to go.” 

“I insist that you use one of our speeders,” Mace says, standing to help guide them towards the speeder bay. “It is a medical emergency.” 

Chaos almost makes to respond, but then something happens on his communicator and his attention is drawn to it again. “Fine, it’s your speeder, I’ve warned you.” 

Mace silently takes a lead. 

“I’ll comm Butterfly,” Fives adds, “let him know to pack it up as we’ve got the leave.” 

“Why? Butterfly isn’t a medic, and he has a rotation in three hours anyway only a few blocks away. And you’re not a medic, there—” 

“I’ll guard the speeder, Chaos,” Fives snaps, “and if we’re going to that bad of a level, you shouldn’t go alone.” 

“I’ve gone down there before, you coming with will cause even more problems.” 

“What?” 

“Kitted up and alone, you’re more a walking target than I am.” 

“We’re going _that low,_ Chaos?! What the kriff?!” Fives hisses, aware of the passing Jedi. “Are you suicidal?” 

“I’m not.” 

“I think so, they target clones! You’ll be mugged and murdered in seconds.” 

Mace frowns, not liking the implications of what the clones face on _Coruscant._ He’s aware of the anti-clone sentiment, but to find it so bad that a clone can’t walk alone, even if it is one of the lower levels, is unsettling. 

“Surprisingly, most civilians don’t know our faces,” Chaos comments absently. “Unarmored, very few take me for a clone, merely a GAR officer retrieving an unfortunate twin brother. And no one mugs me. Or murders me.” 

“Have they _tried_ , Chaos?” Five asks. “Lack of success does not mean it didn’t happen.” 

“Lack of success _does_ mean it didn’t happen.” 

They’ve reached the speeder bay, and Mace directs them to an old beater of a machine. It is a safety hazard all around, and honestly, if someone is in such desperate need of creds that they steal anything from it, it’s a sacrifice willingly made. It’s a speeder that if needs abandoning, there is no loss or citation added to a Knight’s file, because some of their speeders are kept for that reason. “We won’t worry too much if it doesn’t come back,” he says. 

“And if we die because it falls from the sky?” Fives mutters, but he’s busier stripping off his armor to his blacks, shoving the pieces into a bag, and then he’s pulling on one of the discarded mechanic suits. 

Chaos is already sitting in the speeder, still typing, though when Mace jumps to sit in the back, he stiffens noticeably. 

“Ah, General, you don’t have to come with,” Fives says. 

“There’s safety in numbers.” The Jedi are responsible for the clones. He can’t in good conscience let them go into known danger. 

“Some safety. A trooper and a Jedi, both walking targets,” Chaos mutters, but then orders Fives into the speeder. “Just drive. If he is annoying, or if the speeder can’t take the weight, we’ll throw him off.” 

“Chaos! General, he didn—” He stops at Mace’s expression, because he sees Mace can sense the utter honesty from the medic. 

“He’ll have a much better chance of survival than if either of us has to jump,” Chaos continues, “unless I’ve read a lot of inaccurate reports. Given your experience with Jedi, I wouldn’t have thought you’d worry so much.” 

“Please don’t compare me to Skywalker,” Mace requests. 

“General Skywalker is his own league. No offense, General,” Fives adds as he gets inside, the bag holding his armor between the clones. It takes a few tries before it starts and Fives carefully pulls them out and then into traffic. “So where are we going?” 

Chaos directs them down. And then down, and down, and further down. They are miles from the Temple, and from light and clean air. 

It’s almost forty minutes before they stop in front of a derelict section, the world grey and hazy with smog, and in the Force, it feels sick, weak, and scared. Pained and hurt and lost. There had been beings, but now the immediate area is empty, everyone has disappeared or scattered as soon as it’s clear where they are going. 

The medic jumps out and enters one of the buildings without a single word, leaving Fives and Mace to sit awkwardly. “So … do you think we should follow him?” Fives asks. 

“Thought you were going to guard the speeder,” Mace comments, feeling countless eyes on them. 

“Probably more important to guard the medic.” He’s anxiously checking the building, keen to follow. 

“I think the medic can take care of himself.” 

Fives snorts. “I'm sure he thinks so, but Chaos is probably the only vod whose never been in any combat situation. Ever. Even Butterfly’s been pulled into random battles. Doesn’t even get called in to handle crowd control. Not saying he can’t shoot or fight, just that it’s different than it’s the real thing, is all.” 

Mace agrees but he still senses the medic can handle himself in this situation. He seems too familiar with the area. Instead, he says, “Remind me to speak with Commander Cody when he is next on planet.” When Fives looks at him, he adds, “While I understand the need, a little warning would have been appreciated.” 

“Makes you feel any better, I think he was planning to lay in at General Kenobi’s feet, but the General _really_ pissed off Chaos. And I mean really. Don’t know what he did, but after that visit, Chaos was spitting bolts and throwing knives everywhere. And Butterfly likes General Kenobi, or he did. Probably doesn’t now. He’s very loyal to Chaos.” 

The Jedi wonders what Obi-Wan, who is one of the most approachable Jedi, did that upset the clone. Mace does get the impression it wouldn’t have taken much, but it doesn’t ease his mind any if Obi-Wan caused as issue with the clone, because the younger man isn’t malicious or careless. 

“I’d apologize about Chaos,” Fives says, eyes scanning their surroundings, “but I’m not really sorry about anything. More contact embarrassment, you know. Got plenty of other brothers like him. Not who I’d choose to hang out with, but can’t be too picky now. They’re always prickly, but you get used to it. Chaos is just the one whose gotten himself into a leadership position, the others never passed the longnecks’ personality tests or whatever they were, and that just means he never had to learn to temper it around the rest of us. None of them would every dare to talk to a General, Commander, or Captain like he does, and they can’t reprimand him in any way that’ll teach to follow the chain of command, because he’ll talk over them about medical being above everything.” 

“A stance shared by most of medical,” Mace says, voice bland. “What can you tell me about the—” 

“Not here. If Chaos catches us, neither of us will be safe. Ears everywhere, that sort of thing.” 

“Tell me about the Orders, then.” 

So Mace listens as Fives go through the Orders. Most are such odd, impossible things, nothing that would ever happen except as an absolute worst case scenario, and to have wasted time to create them …. When Fives finally finishes, over an hour later, Mace says, “The Jedi do not know about these.” 

“Odd, that, isn’t it,” Fives says, sarcastic and leaning back to give cool eyes to the few beings who have started coming out. “I remember learning about them, quizzing each other and joking about how stupid they were. Waste of our time learning them. Then I’m stuck with Chaos, and one day it’s just me spinning in his chair and he’s doing his Chaos thing, tapping or poking at things, whatever he does. And then he just says, out of the blue, no lead up, nothing, just, ‘Huh, these are all blanket orders, nothing makes a distinction. Kill all the Senate, kill the Chancellor, kill the whole village, attack the whole battalion, kill all the Jedi, throw everything away. Simple orders, to make it simple for us to obey. Clever.’ Clever, he says, and just continues on working.” 

Clever. Yes, that is a way to view the orders. 

Fives continues to monitor the street. His eyes darts to the time, keeping track of how long the third of their party has been gone. Both Jedi and clone are trained in patience, and as long as Chaos responds to the small communicator taps, they have no reason to search for him. “And we were made with those ch—” He stops himself, clears his throat, and starts again. “We were ordered before the war, and just happen to have the sort of inclination to follow those orders. Someone made those up before a war was even on the horizon and knew which ones would be ones we would be more likely to follow. 

“That’s the sort of stuff Chaos likes to point out and ruin a good night’s sleep.” 

Mace hears what isn’t said. Chips placed in the clones’ heads, chips that would have had to be programmed prior to implantation. These orders were already decided years before the Senate would have declared war, years before Geonosis. Someone wrote these orders in particular, as vague as possible to account for a future yet unwritten but still could be used for their benefit. He wonders if he can request from the Kaminoans the programmer who programmed the chips, or if that would draw attention. He cannot remember if Shaak Ti is on the list. 

They are silent after ten or twenty minutes longer before finally there is movement at the front of the building, and they see Chaos finally coming out, but he is not alone. He assists a thin, malnourished being, dressed in rags and covered in grime, and it is not until they were a few steps away that Mace recognizes it is another clone. By Fives’ quick breath through his teeth, he recognizes it too. 

Chaos’ glare keeps their silence, and he roughly jerks his chin to the front in an order for Mace to move. The two are settled in the back, the ill clone clutching to Chaos, sweating and ashen. 

“Back to –” 

“No, don’t be stupid,” Chaos cuts Fives off, before darting his eyes at Mace, “or there, either.” He gives an address, and Fives’ eyes widen. 

“Um, Chaos –” 

“I did not stutter. Go.” His attention is drawn to his patient, who has whimpered. 

“Ooookay.” Fives starts the speeder, and it is a heavy ride to the new location. It is higher up, not especially, still a little sharp in the Force, but less hopeless. 

Mace does not understand was Chaos murmurs to the clone, nor understand the patient's response. It is Mando'a, he thinks, from a word or two and the cadence, but in the Force, he feels the sick's shame and pain and utter despair. Whatever Fives hears causes a swell of repressed anger, while the medic’s own fire remains simmering low and steady. 

They stop in front of a building, and Mace knows enough to take in the subtle hints. He shares a look with Fives, who is just as confused, but Chaos is already helping the clone out. “Don’t just sit there,” Chaos snaps when they don’t follow. “You’ll be all over the GAR if you’re seen sitting outside like a pair a nervous shinies.” 

“Yeah, I don’t need that reputation on top of what I already got,” Fives mutters, following with his bag of armor over his shoulder. They enter a few steps behind the other pair. 

It is not Mace’s first time in a brothel, he sees the workers prepared for new visitors, but then the Force takes a sharp turn from business to pleasure and concern. “Medic! Oh, medic, what have you got there? Oh dear,” the beings chitter, dancing around. 

“Give me one of the spare rooms, and get me Madam Mira,” Chaos says, “and I need someone for sitting and talking and watching, usual fee.” 

Fives and Mace watch as the various beings move, one to possibly get the Madam, some to help Chaos, others speaking and deciding before one is decided. Chaos gives them a cool expression and the young woman raises her chin. “Do not be making more work for me, I do not need you two dragging each other down.” 

“I’ve been clean a whole year, Medic,” she says. 

“I know, and I don’t need to prove yourself to me or anyone else.” He turns away and follows the others, leaving Mace and Fives behind again. 

“Want to kill a little time, soldiers?” one of the remaining ask with faux coyness. 

“We’ll just wait for Chaos,” Fives stutters, fidgeting. His eyes are darting around, between the workers and Mace, his professionalism at odds with whatever his personality wants. 

The workers titter, but eventually Mace and Fives are settled in a private room with drinks. 

“I have no idea what is going on,” Fives admits, throwing back his glass. 

Neither does Mace, but he’s hardly going to admit it. 

They are forced to again sit, but this time it is a little more awkward, because they can hear business still being conducted. Mace keeps his shields up. 

It is a shorter wait than previously when Chaos rejoins them, conversing with the Madam of the house. 

“—just keep me abreast of the usual charges,” Chaos is saying. “I’ll settle them on my next visit.” 

The Madam’s smile is sharp, but there is a light fondness in her gaze. “Ah, you had better. Not running no halfway house here, not a charity.” 

“And keep an eye on Vi’an.” 

“Never an eye off her.” 

Chaos’ scoffs but his business seems done. “Why are you still here?” 

“Because we’re your ride,” Fives sighs. 

“You wasted your time waiting for me, that was what you thought was a good use of your time? Typical. How much could you have gotten done,” he says. 

“They could have spent their time more enjoyably,” the Madam cackles. “Ah, but they are with you, we let them stay, this time.” 

“Should have tossed them out instead of taking the revenue loss,” Chaos says shortly. “Let’s return the speeder, I’ve got work to do. Madam, in a few weeks.” 

“We’ll be waiting, Medic.” 

They leave and once in the air, it takes a few minutes before Fives finally explodes. “What the hell was that, Chaos?” 

“What was what?” 

“Okay, there is so much to unpack here. One, who was that brother?” 

“No one you need to know. He’s been AWOL for almost two years. He’s had a poor reaction to Order 93.” Chaos’ face is hard. “He tended to very injured very specifically.” 

Mace feels another spike of anger in Fives and works to remember Order 93. He cannot. 

“It’s the order to forget,” Chaos explains without him even asking. “I think the memory wipe is artificial. That is, with enough effort, one could remember. But constant exposure to the Order, and then constantly trying to remember, it is not a good combination, in the long run.” 

“Is he still Chaosed?” Fives asks. 

“I’ve given the injections, it was one of the first treatments I gave him when I first found him, but I suspect the damage is already done and permanent. The few low-res scans I’ve taken show restructuring in his brain. It's made worse by his other habits he’s taken up, spice or whatever he can get enough creds to buy, the same habits as any handful of vode who think they can sneak it by me. He is just more susceptible because of his history. He left service and has been surviving on the lower levels, for a given value. Fool thinks he deserves it, for deserting, but we all know what a medical discharge is in the GAR for a vod. He didn’t have a choice,” he says, bitter. Mace wonders exactly what it is, though he strongly suspects he knows. 

“He contacted you,” Fives says. 

Mace agrees with the risk. He does not want to imagine what would happen to a clone who deserted. It is a good thing he never sees or knows about any. 

“The first time it was luck. He was not so low, and he was taken in by one of the workers for one of the clinic days. Fool practically killed himself trying to run and barely understood me explaining I’m his medic and I tell no one of any of my patient’s health, I’m not some gossip. We agree if he has a medical emergency, it is my responsibility to treat it. Sometimes he has bad reactions from certain suppliers I’ve told him and other vode to _not buy from_ , there are much safer alternatives.” 

“Safer spice to take? That’s what you endorse?” 

“If they’re going to take something, I’d rather it be not made incorrectly. I don’t have the time to figure out every contamination.” Chaos shakes his head, just a little. “I always worry he’ll sell the communicator for the quick creds, but he hasn’t yet, thankfully. He knows better than to ask for creds from me, but I’ve gone down to handle standard injuries and talk him off ledges a few times, even treated a friend of his once.” 

“He contacts you,” Fives repeats, sounding a little lost. “Out of all of us, he calls you.” 

“He has my information. Everyone does.” 

“Yeah, that’s—forget it. And you took him to a brothel.” 

“I have an agreement with Madam Mira and a few others. I visit their establishments and treat those there, and it dramatically cuts down the number of sexually transmitted diseases I have to deal with. Instead of reporting immediately when they notice, everyone tries to hide and ignore it, it is very aggravating.” 

Mace turns to look at the medic. “Your answer to dealing with sexually transmitted diseases is to treat the sex workers?” 

“Much more efficient. I visit once or twice a month to give examinations and treatments, and it has drastically cut my workload, as well as for other medics when the ships go on furlough on Coruscant.” 

Fives chokes, a little. “Is that so? And you can do that? Not sure the GAR endorses using their supplies on them and not on us.” 

“It is for vode health,” Chaos counters. “We need to eat, and it is the food services’ responsibility to feed us unrotten food. Sexual appetites are just as natural as caloric. They must be just as uncontaminated.” 

Mace notes Chaos is not defensive in his explanation. He’s not trying to defend a loophole he’s found. He is stating a logical course of action that no one in the Senate would approve, and he’s stating it though he’s not even going to hide the fact. “And you haven’t had to explain this to anyone? No one questions the increase in med supplies or being gone for days?” 

“I order the droids to handle medical emergencies that come into the bay, and _no one_ questions me on what medical supplies I need in my own medbay,” Chaos states. 

“That’s because no one is that suicidal, and Chaos is the one that approves all the medical supplies for the GAR, of course he’s going to approve whatever he needs if he can get away with it,” Fives whispers to Mace over the speeder, before loudly adding, “Just, I don’t think anyone knows you go there, Chaos. No offense, but if they did, they wouldn’t be going there anymore. To avoid you. Because they don’t care about their health.” 

Chaos makes a sound of agreement. “I know, I’ve had to be very careful in my timing, but the workers know their customers.” 

The Jedi agrees. “And you thought of this on your own.” Mace _cannot_ believe anyone would be so ignorant of how much this set-up would not be approved by any bureaucracy, but even with the Force he honestly cannot get a sense of Chaos’ guilt at going through such an ingenious system. 

“Clearly can’t rely on a natborn to think of a practical solution,” Chaos says. 

“What are the usual charges?” Mace asks. “They’re not charging you to visit them?” 

Chaos is dismissive. “I am shutting them down for a day with a loss of revenue. They are entitled to some form of payment for the loss, otherwise there is no incentive. As recompense, I agree to treat non-workers of the brothels, which they seem to accept. Usually they bring in children, but I’ve seen neighbors or an elderly patient in addition to the vod. For this, I suspect they’ll charge me for another day’s worth of treatments of non-workers.” He’s quiet for a moment. “They bring baked goods. They’re not very healthy, but Butterfly says I have to take them. He puts them in the commissary.” 

“That’s where those come from?” Fives murmurs. 

“You don’t see any issue with this relationship?” Mace asks, still trying to determine if the clone is being taken advantage of and putting himself at risk, or if it’s clear he’s aware of what’s going on and is being deliberately obtuse. 

“I’m taking care of my patients.” Chaos scowls. “Why should I be forced to cure them when it’s easier and more efficient to work on the prevention? I’ve lessened sexual infections of the Coruscant Guard over the course of two years by 37.2% by treating the source, with a projected end goal of at least 90% in five more years if I can keep ahead of where vode like to visit.” 

“I will agree, it is a practical approach to health,” Mace says diplomatically. The workers did look healthy, now that he considers it. Thin and under-fed, as a rule, but he’s seen much worse. “It benefits everyone.” 

“It’s something,” Fives mutters. “Typical Chaos.” 

They’re almost to the temple when Chaos says, “It’s strange.” 

“What is, Chaos?” Fives asks, voice patient. 

“That so many of them choose to see me instead of their regular healer.” 

“Maybe you are their regular healer, Chaos,” Fives says kindly. 

The clone makes a small noise, dismissive. “Doubtful. No one likes me as a medic.” 

“Maybe if you didn’t stab them with hypos without warning,” Mace says, dryly and maybe too heavily hinted. 

“Probably help,” Fives supports. 

“No, I don’t think so. Anyway, Coruscant is one of the richest planets in the Core, and the site of a Jedi Temple. I don’t see why a GAR medic should be anyone outside of the GAR’s regular healer.” 

Mace asks, “Why do you mention the Jedi Temple?” 

“The Jedi are relief and aid.” 

“Chaos, this is Coruscant,” Fives points out. 

“Well, then providing relief and aid is easy. Then again, I personally don’t trust a single one of those healers,” he mutters to himself. “Honestly wouldn’t surprise me if they’re woefully behind treating the civilians in their care, just as they are the Jedi.” 

They pull into the speeder bay as Mace considers the statement, and then wonders when the last time the Jedi ran a traveling clinic on Coruscant. The war has made medical short-staffed, but it can’t have been that long before the start of it. Yet he cannot remember. He remembers numerous relief missions organized by medics and the corps, but he cannot remember the last local clinic. 

“Chaos, you ever think maybe they might be busy with the war?” Fives asks as he gingerly parks. 

“No. If a patient matters, a medic finds the time. And all patients matter. Unfortunately. It’d give me more spare time if I could get rid of the useless ones,” he complains as they get out of the speeder. 

“Being Butterfly’s personal medic would give you _too much_ free time,” Fives says as he starts replacing his armor. 

“It’d be more tolerable, being a medic and not having to see patients all the time," Chaos says, wistful. 

“Less stressful for all involved, I’d imagine,” Mace comments. 

Fives snorts as he replaces the last vambrace. “Apologies for taking up so much of your time, General, wasn’t really expecting all of … that.” 

“Why? He chose to come along, even though he was unnecessary.” 

“It was my pleasure. Quite educational.” Mace nods to himself. “I’ll consult your list and keep you informed of our decisions and discoveries. Thank you for bringing it to your attention, Medic Chaos, Fi—” 

“City!” Fives interrupts. “City, my name is City.” 

“Ah, yes, City. Until next time.” 

“You too, General.” 

The clones nod before turning and leaving. Mace stands watching before resigning himself to the impossible task of finding Jedi _not_ on the list, and then explaining everything he has learned about these past few hours. 

He is going to have a strong talk with Obi-Wan in the future for laying this on him, as well as Commander Cody. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chaos is *not* a good medic. You don't give treatment without patient permission. In his defense, though, he's used to giving them to the GAR, who have no choice but to get whatever they're ordered to get
> 
> That said, he's not a *bad* medic. When he's not forced to hunt those out skipping visits or refusing treatments, he can be kind, especially to another clone who's a step away from suicidal and whose health is poor or to civilians who are happy and want to see him. (When he helps at Coruscant Clinics [ordered d/t staff needing help], those patients and/or staff tend to not be happy to see him and he's usually delegated to bringing "the real medics" supplies from the back.)
> 
> He also prefers efficiency and has learned an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. He has charts that show he's costing the GAR less with his unauthorized clinics, that he is *very* aware aren't standard, but Chaos will convince through hook or crook anyone who looks into it that he's treating the GAR. A healthy community leads to a healthy soldier.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clones prepare

Cody sits in his office and goes through his coded messages that need his approval. Almost all deal with the chips these days, now that the clone command of the GAR is involved. (Natborns and the majority of the Jedi are not. He still has a comm from General Windu he is not _avoiding_ , but he’s also not prioritizing. He’s been not prioritizing it for a tenday.) He longingly misses the days when it was only Chaos’ project, because these days everyone has an opinion and it bogs the process down. Chaos never asked for another’s opinion, he just did it, and then never even thought to ask for forgiveness afterwards. So many less comms. 

Save for vode on Coruscant and on Kamino, the GAR is essentially Chaos Free. The medics have been pulling triple-time. 

But there is also a strong undercurrent of _anger_. As Chaos would have undoubtedly pointed out, the chips and their effects are known to probably every trooper. Cody can’t determine where the leak is now that there are so many possibilities, but some variation of the truth is out there. 

They would have been made little better than droids. They are already seen as less than human, less than alive. (They can’t even be classified as slaves, lacking those requirements.) To turn them into droids, the _enemy_ , it cuts deep. 

It is … difficult to keep it from the Jedi, who feel the change in their soldiers and friends, to explain why troopers might become even more protective of the young Commanders and Generals. Off Coruscant and safe from Chaos’ wrath, it’s tempting to tell their Generals, who all the vode know they can trust, but Cody stands with Chaos’ decision. It’s not because he agrees with it, for he trusts Obi-Wan with all that he is, but because he can respect Chaos’ orders even if he disagrees with them. And knowing about Chaos’ files on certain Jedi, Cody does not completely disagree. 

He’s had to remind Wolffe countless times, and Rex, and Bly, and so many others. They have agreed to only let a select number of Jedi know, and if they are not on a (frankly ridiculous and overly long) list, they are not to be told. 

He has a feeling most of his fellow Commanders want to have words with Chaos (and Butterfly) about _why_ their General is on said list. 

Cody has warned them to let it go, using his own general as an example and pointing out Cody knows _why_ he made it on, and that it's ultimately embarassing for all involved. Each of them know Chaos, and it is better that they blame the list on his quirks than to find an actual _reason_ for their General to be on the list. (Cody feels guilt for not telling Rex, but if he is a bit more blunt in telling Rex he does not _want to know why_ , he can at least take relief that Rex understands his warning.) 

Several missives are about what to do if certain Orders _do_ come through. Obviously to not obey, but then what do they do? There is still the natborns and the Jedi to deal with. If they know what the Orders mean and _want_ to obey them. How to communicate between the battalions when an Order is given. 

There is a concern if the Orders are given under good intentions, if they are _right_. Their responsibility is to the Republic, and it might be – well, they _know_ there is – corruption in the Senate, that there are Jedi who are untrustworthy, that there are civilians are sympathizers. But all agree the blanket orders, it is too far. Just as each vod is an individual despite being a clone, each natborn is. It is decided each Commander will make the call and accept responsibility, as is the correct course. 

They will follow orders, but they will not follow Orders 

(There are whispers that make it to Cody’s ears – never in a hard copy – that they _are_ the GAR. _They_ could give the orders, for the good of the Republic. If they, as a whole, do not listen to an order … what can the Republic _do_ to them, they who control the war ships and weapons and who are trained to fight and have countless numbers? Cody acknowledges these facts, because they are _facts_ , it is not treason to be aware of them, but he always makes it clear his opinion is that their duty is to protect the civilians of the Republic. 

He is aware this is not out-right condemnation of the whispers, but Cody is practical. Being aware that ~~when~~ if the Orders come out and they do not Obey, it does not mean they are helpless like on Kamino. They _can_ protect each other and the Republic.) 

There are hundreds of new codes the communication officers have come up with, secret from the GAR at large, clever codes known only to clones. 

There is a focus on what do to for the Coruscant Guard. All want their brothers free, but they are soldiers of the Republic. Everyone understands there may have to be a sacrifice to keep the Republic safe, to end the Separatist threat. Intellectually, everyone knows this, but it is still a difficult call to order a brother to death. Cody is sadly well-versed in the experience. 

The medics, due to the influx of surgeries, have been studying the chips. It is clear they cannot reprogram the chips remotely, the biochips too complex without the master programming known. Without knowing _how_ they are activated – a clone or medic saying the code is never enough, _somewhere_ someone knows who can be given access, or the programmer has always known who could have access – they do not have a clear way how to stop them from being activated. 

It is always Chaos who suggests a blunt hammer to fix a problem. 

He suggests, with his usual tact, to aggressively incapacitate anyone if they feel an Order has gone out to everyone on Coruscant instead of worrying about keeping the chips from being activated. 

Considering “aggressively incapacitate” is usually report code for emptying an entire clip into the enemy, it takes a notice or two for Chaos to realize he has to clarify. Likely Fives explained it, as Cody suspects Chaos always took the phrase at face value. 

By his writing, it’s clear he is upset they thought _that_ was what he meant. (He’s a medic, his answer isn’t going to be _kill everyone_. Well, several brothers think that wouldn’t be his medically-approved option, but it would be his personal.) He _meant_ something simple like an electrical discharge directly to the brain of each vod. 

It wouldn’t be subtle, but it would drop everyone. 

Of course, he adds, the natborns will probably think it’s a Separatist attack and panic. And it would effectively drop any protection Coruscant would have, so they’d have to be 100% positive it is the correct choice. And there would be no secrecy after using it, the entirety of the cloned GAR would be open to scrutiny. And there would be a risk of lingering side effects from a high voltage discharge to the brain, so there’d be a risk of decommissioning if they are wrong. (No Jedi will allow decommissioning, but Chaos remains old-school in his recommendations.) 

It’s gained traction, because it’s easy to alter helmets. There’s enough Chaos Free vode on Coruscant to handle a claim that they need to place a new communication chip and add the appropriate hardware. 

It’ll have to be manual to activate this measure. 

Chaos’ medbay is an obvious choice, as is the Jedi temple, but there is no way to guarantee someone who knows what to do will be able to get there, or if anyone will be alive to do it. Communication is working to set up remote commands, in case they’ll have to be activated from orbit. 

They’ll figure it out, Cody knows. The men are experts. 

But when it’s used, Cody is experienced to know support is going to have to present almost immediately. 

Maybe they will never have to go down this path. It is only _if_ the Orders go out, and only if it’s to the whole GAR or the single Coruscant Guard, and only if it is one of the Big Bad (Target Senate, Target Civilians, Target Brothers, Target Jedi, Target Chancellor, Target this Republic World). 

But it makes everyone feel better to have a plan. It makes Cody feel better. 

He signs his approval and sends the message out to begin. 

“Anakin Skywalker, we have approved your appointment to the Council as the Chancellor’s personal representative,” Mace says, voice calm and deep as a pond. The Council argued vehemently on the appointment. They would have, with the gross over-sight of the Chancellor, but now there is the added issue of the Citations, a term that is deceptively light for what they accuse and prove. 

“I will do my best to uphold the principles of the Jedi Order.” 

There is more than one look between the Council members, and Master Yoda states, “Allow this appointment lightly, the Council does not. Disturbing is this move by Chancellor Palpatine.” 

“I understand.” 

Mace doubts the young knight fully does. It took himself years to understand politics, to gain enough experience. “You are on this Council, but we do not grant you the rank of Master.” It is left unsaid, but it is the sentiment of the majority of the Council that Knight Skywalker will not be on the Council a second longer than they are required. It is not just his age, nor the manipulations of Palpatine. Until the Citation is addressed, Skywalker cannot remain. No Councilor can with such an accusation, it is understood. They must be above reproach, if they are to lead by example. 

Perhaps Skywalker is innocent, perhaps there is an explanation, but until that is determined, it is anti-thesis of what and who they are. 

Skywalker reacts with anger. Another reason it is not right for him to remain on the Council, if he cannot even control himself. Obi-Wan is avoiding everyone’s gaze. 

Mace lets the words roll off and orders him to take a seat 

They discuss the war, the situation on Kashyyyk. Mace senses Skywalker’s disappointment at not being assigned to lead a battle, and when they are finished, he nods at Obi-Wan meaningfully. 

The nod is two-fold. Both Obi-Wan argued against. 

They know it is asking a lot to spy on a friend, but they are at war, and the Chancellor is leading them down a path that seems to benefit him. It would be hard for any asked. 

The second is, perhaps, crueler, to tell the Knight of the accusation leveled against him and what that means. Without knowing Skywalker’s side, without allowing him the chance to defend himself, they are in limbo until this war is over, because the Council already agreed to address the Citations that could afford to wait until afterwards. 

As terrible as the slaughter of Tusken Raiders is, it is in the past, likely has no effect on the war at large, and is not a punishable offense by Republic standards. (Jedi standards are another story.)

Skywalker will have to knowingly sit on the Council, aware they know the accusation, and he will not be able to speak, defend, or explain. Skywalker’s temperament will not make it easy for him, as he already fears judgement and resents any sign of it. 

When Obi-Wan gives report as they accompany Yoda to the landing platform in the ship, he admits quietly that it went as well as he expected. It has devastated their friend, but he still loyally holds it is wrong, that Skywalker is innocent or there is something missing. Mace understands, because he would feel the same if Depa was accused of such things. 

“Too much under the sway of the Chancellor, he is. Much anger there is in him. Too much pride in his powers,” Yoda says grimly. 

Mace shakes his head. “It’s very dangerous, putting them together. I don’t think the boy can handle it. I don’t trust him.” It is not the Citatation, nor Palpatine. It is simply that Skywalker is young and untested. This war made him a Knight too young, in Mace's opinion.

“He’ll be all right. I trust him with my life.” 

“I wish I did.” 

Obi-Wan defends – always defending, the Master of Soresu – Skywalker, citing Jinn’s faith in the Knight being the Chosen One, faith in the prophesy. Mace and Yoda humor him, out of kindness, though Yoda is also kind to warn no Jedi understands the will of the Force. Obi-Wan remains loyal to his Padawan, as always. 

Later, when Mace can sit in his quarters and meditate, he checks his messages from the three – _three! --_ Jedi he has on the clone chip issue. There is not much, to be frank. Medic Chaos is annoyingly correct in stating Jedi involvement is merely a formality at this point, as the clones have long addressed any issues easily handled and tabled problems they could not solve but did not likely matter in the long run. 

Fives has kept them abreast of clone decisions regarding the Guard, which involves the code for Mace to use to bring down the whole Guard in the worst-case scenario, detailing exactly what would happen and the risks involved. (He recognizes Chao’s cadence in the report, likely Fives cut and pasted it into his own. It adds a page and a half of chilling details.) Mace hopes it will not come to that as he sets it down and rubs at his headache. 

The Force is coiled like a predator, like a prey. 

And so the moments passed, all leading to this moment in time. 

“Execute Order 66.” 

Cody considers the figure. He serves under a Jedi and who drops robes like his lightsaber, but the point is he can recognize who's under a robe. “As ordered, my lord.” 

And when the figure disappears, he says, more to himself than to anyone else, “Kriffing kriff.” 

He sends the command through the troops on the channel, sends the notice out to all battalions he can reach. It’s expected if he received the Order, and it’s clone protocol to warn as many as possible. 

“Get this damn battle done,” he orders sharply, then taps another channel. “General, you’re needed down here, _immediately_.” 

“Commander?” 

“Get down here, General, we’ve got to get to Coruscant.” 

“What’s happened? Cody, what happened?” 

He can see the General ride down, perhaps even faster than he scaled up. “What’s going on, is everything all right? Is it Anakin?” 

“I don’t know, Sir,” he admits as Obi-Wan jumps down. Would it have been too much to ask for the order to have come through before I gave him back the bloody lightsaber, he hadn’t even missed it, he thinks glumly, before saying, “And don’t take this the wrong way, but give me your lightsaber back.” 

“What?” 

“Do you trust me, sir?” 

“With my life, Cody.” 

“Then give me the lightsaber and get on the ship.” 

“Cody, you’re not making much sense,” Obi-Wan says, but he hands back the weapon. 

“Well, sir, that’s your own fault,” Cody states as he clips it to his belt. 

“I’m not following.” 

“You’d know exactly what is going on if you hadn’t pissed off Chaos. We’ve got to go, the men will handle it from here.” 

“What does the medic have anything to do with?” Obi-Wan asks, bewildered, but he follows the Cody. 

Bacara sighs. Why does this have to happen in the _middle_ of them leading a charge? He’ll get the lightsaber when they’re done. 

Bly feels utterly embarrassed as he comes up behind Aayla. “Erm, I’m going to need your lightsaber, Aayla.” 

She turns and gives him a befuddled look. 

“Please?” 

Luminara blinks at the request from the commanders around her. “Excuse me?” 

“We tell anyone who asks we got it after he landed. We just all think someone else asked for it.” 

“Yes, sir!” 

“Could I just _pretend_ to shoot him?” 

“No, trooper.” 

“Whoever gets there last has to ask for the lightsaber.” 

“Oh, kriff you!” 

“Rex. It’s Anakin. I feel like something terrible has happened.” 

He closes his eyes. “It has, but don’t worry, we’ve got it handled.” 

“Rex?” 

Gree steps up to Yoda and kneels. 

“Something to me tell, hmm?” the Jedi asks, feeling the shift in the Force. 

“Not yet, General, but I am going to have to ask you for your lightsaber.” 

“And if give it to you, I refuse? A Jedi’s life, a lightstaber is.” 

“We don’t want to fight you, General, but until this is figured out, all the Jedi are to be relieved of their weapons.” 

“Yes, happened, something has. To Coruscant, we will go, yes.” 

“Yes, General.” Gree looks down at the lightsaber that has been handed over, as well as the gimer stick, and meets Yoda’s smirking expression. 

“Carry me, you must. Weapon, a body of Jedi is.” 

Little kriffing troll, Gree thinks fondly. 

Fives and Butterfly are playing cards in Chaos’ office while the medic updates charts. It’s soothing, except for Chaos, who is muttering about troopers he still has to find, and for Fives, who is not sure how he is losing this badly. (Chaos would have told Fives Butterfly cheats, but he thinks it should go without saying. Butterfly states he doesn't cheat, but in his defense, he actually thinks he's not cheating. This is how he learned.) Butterfly is happy, though. 

A comm blinks and Chaos activates without looking. “This better be an emergency.” 

“Order 66 has been executed. Report to support Darth Vader for the attack on the Jedi Temple.” 

Fives and Chaos have stilled, staring at each other with wide eyes, but Butterfly sets down his cards. “As ordered.” 

He sets him helmet on and looks at them. “Come on, we’ve got Orders. The Jedi are traitors. We have to take care of them.” 

“We’ll be right behind you, Butterfly,” Chaos says. “I’ve got to get my kit on, and Fives needs ….” He trails off, unable to think of a cover. 

“I’ll help him make sure he gets it on right.” 

Butterfly accepts their story and leaves without question. Fives waits a beat before he starts swearing. “Kriff, kriff, kriff. We’ve got to --” 

“We wait until the last moment, to make the … Darth Vader unaware as long as possible, to give time for reinforcements to arrive,” Chaos says, going to his medic line. It’s hopefully safer than using the command line communications. 

“Right, right. I’ll contact General Windu, let him know.” 

General Windu has been staying on Coruscant, since he’s been pulled in. 

… But he is not picking up. “Chaos! Something’s wrong!” 

“Contact one of his other Jedi, then!" he snaps as he sends his code to the medics, to notify all troops about the situation. ( _Incoming Chaos_.) 

Right, right. Fives does so and quickly explains. The Jedi Knight pales but nods, disappearing to start defenses on the Temple. Fives looks down at the communicator. The General is on Coruscant. “I’m going to find the General.” 

“No, you are joining Darth Vader’s attack,” Chaos orders. “You’ll tell me when it’s the last second, when we can’t wait anymore, long enough that by then all the helmets should be on. We’ve only got one chance at this.” 

“Yes, you’re right,” Fives reluctantly agrees, pulling on his helmet. He opens the channel to Chaos’ line. “I’ll follow up.” 

“Keep your head, soldier,” Chaos says, knuckles white. 

Fives is not sure the comment is for him. “May the Force be with us.” 

“It’s like air, it always is,” Chaos snaps. “Get out of my medbay and make yourself useful.” 

He smirks to himself as he leaves, and Fives is quickly in the lines of troops. It is … eerie, they are at attention and staring ahead. There is an echo of, “Good soldiers follow orders,” that comes from one, then another, then another, random from somewhere in the formation, like a chant or meditative phrase. 

There is a flash of dark robes ahead. The Sith. Fives’ fingers tighten on the blaster. He could shoot them ... but he’s seen Sith and Jedi fight, a blaster is nothing to them. No, his responsibility is to saving the Jedi. Looking around, he spies a few Chaos Free vode also caught in the order, looking more nervous than the Chaosed. They’ll be needed to fight the Sith, when everyone drops and the ruse is up. 

They’ll be dead in seconds. Fives has seen it happen. 

There is a shiny near the edge, more nervous, someone young who deserves a chance to live past this. Fives makes a rash decision and steps to him. 

“Bottleneck,” he says in private comm. 

“City.” 

He forwards General Windu’s comm information. “When you can, slip out and trace this. It’s the General. Might be too late for him,” he admits, “but if not, that’s a Sith, and we need a Jedi." He conveniently doesn't point out they're headed to the Jedi Temple, mostly because it's filled with cadets and Healers and other non-combatants. "Don’t know when other reinforcements are gonna get here.” 

“But --” 

“Do not make me involve Chaos, trooper,” Fives bluffs. “Go.” 

It takes a few moments, but Bottleneck slips away. None of the other soldiers appear to care. 

Fives works carefully to move up in the formation, tapping to Chaos every few clicks a _Steady_. If he gets close enough, maybe he’ll get a lucky shot before the Sith realizes his support is down. He tries to keep the thought quiet, so it won’t be sensed, or however that works. Just focus on shooting the enemy. That’s a safe thought. That’s safe. That’s … 

He sees the profile of the Sith, just for a second. 

No, Fives things wildly. No, it’s can’t be. It can’t. It’s the robe, it’s tricking him. 

But Fives has followed his General through countless battles. He knows his gait, his stance, his aura. Fives is a clone, he knows how to recognize another without seeing their face. 

He straightens his shoulders. He has his orders, and at least he’s choosing to follow them. It’s more than the Gener—no, the _Sith_ is giving his brothers. 

_Steady_. 

Everything is going according to plan, the glorious plan, but something doesn’t feel right. He imagined he’d feel _Death_ and _Darkness_ as each Jedi light was snuffed out, but all Darth Sideous feels is the swell of anger as millions upon millions of clones receive the Order. Clones, he spits bitterly, overriding the pitiful light of the Jedi. He wants to feel their Light extinguish, feel the creeping Darkness grow until it is all there is. 

He will feel it when they attack the Temple, and he waits with dark anticipation, staring in that direction. 

And then, without warning, he feels the swell of sweet _Anger_ from his Apprentice, anger like wine on his mind, rich and thick. 

But _why_? 

What is happening? 

He turns, but before he has a chance to check the surveillance cameras, there is notification of a Republic Battleship coming to Coruscant. 

And another. 

And another. 

He looks instead to the seeing countless gunships coming down towards the Temple, and he cackles with mad glee. 

It is the end of the Jedi, it is the Sith’s Revenge. 

It does not occur to Chancellor Palpatine, Darth Sideous, that there are ships of clones coming to him as well as going down to the Jedi Temple. 

All the Clones saw him give the Order. 

They would like to know why. 

They would like to know how he knew. 

They have many questions. 

For the good of the Republic. They were bred and made loyal to the Republic. 

They’ll have their answers in a moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as to how this all ends, ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Palpatine is still a Sith, Anakin is still acting Sithy, the Senate's a mess, the Jedi are accused traitors, there's still the Separatists out there.
> 
> But, for completeness sake:
> 
> Palpatine's getting a rude shock when the clones come to take him into custody. They know he gave the order, but they don't know if he realized the full extent -- until he refuses and Sith Lightnings them all. .... Yeah, there's going to be a lot of death of clones for that one, but it is a numbers game. He'll probably escape.
> 
> Anakin -- I'm not sure if he survives or not. If his support is entirely Coruscant Guard, he should, because he can easily take the Chaos Free clones on the ground (1/3 of them are still up) and it's likely he can also take any Jedi Knight who comes out to defend the temple, but again, it's a numbers game once the others land, and I don't think he could honestly take everyone. Even if he escapes, he's going to get caught eventually. He'll try to go to Padme, to "protect" her and their children, but Coruscant is going to be surrounded by ships soon. 
> 
> The ships that arrive were merely the closest, not necessarily Cody/Obi-Wan or Gree/Yoda 
> 
> The clones have decided it's enough playing around once any Order has gone through. There will be *a lot* of Senators who are going to be gathered up today (recall Chaos' numbers about the number of clones to Senator), and there will be a lot of evidence that Fives and Chaos have which will be made public. I feel like Padme will be included, merely because she's an active member of 2000, which is enough to be considered suspicious in trying to get the Chancellor's power, (ie, we remove the Chancellor and one of us becomes the Chancellor) and she's married to Anakin, who literally was going to murder everyone. (The stress will induce labor, either Anakin's attempt at saving or just everything in general.)
> 
> The Jedi are *also* under investigation, because the Order did go through and there was an attempt on the Chancellor's life. Upon determining he's a Sith, which is a Jedi responsibility to take care of ... but arguably it is his Religion and that would be Discrimiation based on Religious Beliefs, Which Is Against Republic Policy ... but he did kill a bunch of clones and fled custody. Anyway, the Jedi also are not going to be in position to be in charge.
> 
> And speaking of Jedi, does Mace survive? I'll leave you with this: It's Samuel L Jackson. If Nick Fury survives, Mace survives.
> 
> All of this going to throw the war and Republic into HUGE chaos, because the GAR has effectively taken control of everything, even momentarily, while they try to root out spies, conspiracies, and everything. And the Separatists have lost their leaders, except for Palpatine, but the leaders are currently hiding on Mufastar and it's not going to take the GAR ships too long to get there once they figure out the Chancellor received a call from there for some reason. 
> 
> None of the Clones want to be in charge, but they are loyal to Republic and someone has to clean up this mess. It's going to take *years*. I imagine, as Cody is one of the highest ranking, he's going to be so pissed for the next few years.
> 
> Commander Fox is just going continue to be pissed at Chaos for hiding all this from him, even though he intellectually understands. He's going to demand so many hand-to-hand challenges, just to beat the medic down, and he's going to be even madder when the other Commanders tell him he can't.
> 
> Does Fives survive? Probably not. But if he does, he opens a Detective Agency.
> 
> Anyway, the point is, there is a reason Palpatine had the clones be made, because, let's be honest, without their numbers and blind obedience to him, he could call himself "Emperor" all he wanted and it wouldn't have done him a lick of good. He needed the clones for his plans to work. In this story's case, he lost them years ago and never realized, so all his planning failed, for want of a nail--er, chip.
> 
> As to the Prophesy: A Chosen One shall come, born of no father, and through him will ultimate balance in the Force be restored. -- Anakin's not the chosen one. *Everyone* is the Chosen one. The only way to bring Balance to the Force is to be be Balanced Yourself, destroy the Inner Sith ... and the Inner Jedi. Being "born of no father" and the "him" is merely translation drift.


End file.
